Blood Stained Tears
by Night-Light11
Summary: An attempt to clean up a botched job ends in an unpredictable situation. The result is a memory hindered man in a world far from what he ever expected, with a woman who never expected to see him again. JacksonxLisa 28 days crossover.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Red Eye. I don't own 28 Days Later. Okay, well, I did buy the CD's but that's about the extent of my rights to the story and character. I wrote this cause it's a challenge to me, and I love playing with other people's characters (within reason, of course!).

A.N.- Going on to round number three! Starting with a round of edits and then continuing with the story. Thank you to everyone who has been reading and keeping up with this story. It's so much fun to write, and I can practically see the ending in sight!

I am very addicted to reviews. The more often I get reviews, usually the quicker I get the next chapters up! So please do!

_**++&&&&++**_

The room was dark, quiet. The hum of life-support was the only noise to interrupt with steady strumming from the lonely heart monitor. There was a single bed in the room: occupied.

It had been days since the man had been strong enough to resist the pull of the drugs that ran through his veins. When he did rouse into consciousness it quickly resulted in a scuffle. A desperate attempt to cling to life, for what good it did him. The result was still the same: forced compliance by a hard blow to the head. Stitches were needed (and embellished) to further excuse his consequential state. He was under control and that was all that the Organization was concerned with.

So the man sunk further, into the stills between the living and dreamless sleep. It could have been hours since anyone entered his room; it could have been days. In any case, he was still painfully aware when the most recent visitor opened the doors to the otherwise quiet hospital room. The patient opened his eyes what little he was able, trying to follow the blurry figure that stepped into view, failing miserably.

If Jackson had been more aware, he would have dreaded this inevitable visit.

"Don't worry, Jack. You've just had an accident." A voice hissed in disgust, but everything was tuning out of focus too quickly for the bedridden occupant to care. "We all make mistakes, but it will be cleaned up in no time. I'll be sure to give your family my regards."

Jackson was vaguely aware of a pinch in his arm before the world went black once more.

_**++&&&&++**_

"_I don't want him to wake up, Robert. Is that clear_?" The deep voice on the line was steady with professionalism. One could almost wonder if there was a hint of fear. In any case, there was no room for debate.

The other man stood in the busy hall, his posture stiff and shined shoes clinking on the smooth floor as he stepped out of the way of a passing nurse. His brown suit stood sharply against the blues and grays of the staff.

"It is under control, sir," he replied, watching the scene that played down the hall. The target was being moved to an ambulance that would no doubt be waiting downstairs. The selected police on watch did exactly their job, they watched, as the stretcher moved out of sight. Good help was always easy to find for the right price.

"_There is no chance he will break out of the coma then_?"

"None, sir. Our doctor has been very mindful to his job. We're moving Mr. Donovan to the airport now. We have our men waiting at the St. Thomas' Hospital for his arrival. Dr. Bernale will be handling the medication from there."

Robert kept his voice hushed as he backed casually into the closest room for privacy. One quick glance inside: vacant.

"_Good, that's the sort of news I like to hear. None of that bullshit that he caused. He let the job get dirty and it will do him good to rot until we sort this shit out. And Miss Reisert_?"

"She will not be privy to the transfer into UN custody. She is, however, aware of his current condition," Robert blamed an over-ambitious Sheriff for that one. "Before they caused any more trouble the Miami Police were pushed to the side for the Federal Bureau to get involved and they will keep it quiet like we want. Otherwise there's nothing more to be discovered from the earlier investigations other than this isolated incident and the Jackson persona."

Isolated, but there were still consequences to be dealt with. The girl had gotten lucky as they wanted to lower the attention she had been receiving. Very lucky. A silent corpse was better security, but in her case it would only open more cans than the Organization was willing to pay for.

"I don't feel Miss Reisert is a threat. Should we consider backing away the surveillance?"

A nurse walked past the room, close for comfort, but didn't seem to take any notice. Robert held a cautious eye on the open doorway.

"_Give it one more week, until everything is set up in London. The clean-up on this has gone too smoothly up 'til now to overlook something._"

"Of course, sir."

"_I'll call again once you arrive at the hospital._" The sudden click was all that signaled the end of the conversation. As he left the security of the room, one of his men approached, giving a nod of completion. Robert MacDevett straightened his suit casually after putting away the phone. It would be good to see London again. It had been far too long.

_**++&&&&++**_


	2. 28 Days Later

_**++&&&&++**_

**28 days later…**

It seemed like eternity since the man had last opened his eyes, but even now he refused. He remained motionless in the empty room, acutely aware of his body, prone on the cold, awkward table. Decidedly naked. Something at the back of his mind screamed that there should have been clothes, a sheet…anything. It was that nagging feeling that forced his eyes open to the blaring lights. Something wasn't right.

Focusing was difficult. His mind blurred almost as much as his sight, but the man tried. _Name. What is your name_? One after another flickered through his memory, yet not one held long enough for him consider it his own. Voices swirled painfully and he found himself clutching his head as if the action would make them quiet down.

_Jack_…

Two faces finally came into sight. An older couple…his parents. Donovan. Roger and Margaret…Maggie Donovan. Jim. That was their son. That was his name. Jim Donovan.

The whispers quieted enough so the man could open his eyes again, squinting painfully as he looked around the vacant room. Hospital machines. There was a fallen stand not far away, scattered with a variety of hospital instruments he couldn't place. He couldn't remember ever caring enough to learn what each piece did. Surgery was his best guess.

The silence was welcomed, but it suddenly seemed to strike Jim that it was strangely too quiet. His head throbbed in protest, but regardless he pushed himself up to a sitting position. Jim could practically feel the blood flow down and the world swam in colors entirely too unnatural. So he gripped the bed, lingering as he waited for the wave of dizziness to subside.

It was a ridiculous situation. He was in a hospital; that much was clear, but why? A near-by clipboard was titled at the top with a headline for the St. Thomas' Hospital.

Jim turned to dangle off the table's edge, quickly wincing in pain when the action pulled at the intravenous still in his arm. The makeshift attachment clattered to the floor and he cursed under his breath. It obviously had stopped doing its job sometime ago from the recently emptied bags attached. Without pause he ripped them from his skin, hissing in response. _Just like a Band-Aid_, he told himself.

Already the pinching sensation had begun to die away, leaving a trail of blood at the site. The tubes fell to the ground, soon to be forgotten.

It was a trauma room, although eerily silent considering. Not a single soul. Someone should have come the moment the heart monitor registered…but then even the machines were quiet. Something was very wrong.

Jim put his feet to the ground and stood, feeling disgustingly weak. Briefly, he wondered how long he had lain on that table, alone. Very briefly he considered investigating the details, before he decided he'd rather not know. It was more important to find a way out. The answers would find their way eventually.

It was a challenge to get to the door, one step after another, and with each he felt more secure. Jim licked his chapped lips which stung with mild discomfort. He flipped open the plastic blinds that confined the room from the rest of the building but outside didn't offer anything more welcoming. The hall was just as bare, with nothing but overturned beds and supplies to litter the walkway.

He tried the handle only to find it was locked.

"Hello?" Jim was surprised at the strength of his voice in his first attempt, yet was only answered with the familiar void. "Hello?"

His toe shuffled forward and stubbed something out of place. When he looked down the object raised even more questions. Lock an unconscious man in a deserted hospital then give him the key.

It was far too convenient, but nonetheless he wasn't about to waste time arguing with his own doubts. The plan was to leave the safeguarded room in search of something…anything, and he had in mind a pair of clothes on priority.

It didn't take long to track down a set of orderly scrubs but the journey was disquieting. There still wasn't another soul in sight. Attention turned back to decency. Jim pretended the clothes were clean, not knowing one way or another. The shoes were a tight fit, but it was better than nothing after walking on the cold tile. Was he thinner?

A quick inspection found an absence of bed sores, so he knew he hadn't been left on that table for long. And if he hadn't been left for long, someone had to be around. He hoped.

The scaring on his throat was new though. Jim could feel the rough flesh beneath his fingertips, but the rawness appeared to be gone.

He tended the IV wound before continuing, hoping to save potential blood stains that might mar his path. The white fabric of the bandage held him with fascination. If the material wasn't so gruff, softer, pulling away…

A scar. _Did someone do that to you?_

The voice, his own voice, disappeared with a flash, and Jim looked back up to the doorway in front of him.

The investigation continued as Jim moved through the eerily empty halls, calling out for some sort of response, but still there was nothing. No people; no power other than the emergency lighting. He swallowed dryly, his body longing for a drink and the shouting was only making it worse.

He found the pay-phones, dangling by their cords, and immediately wanted to curse when there was no dial tone. But really what did he expect? Frustrated, he threw the last in line as they clambered against the wall with no particular rhythm.

"Hello?!"

Doing the most sensible option, Jim followed the trail of exit signs. Perhaps it was only the hospital, he dared to hope. Sometimes they closed for weekends, or holidays, or repairs. The idea seemed ridiculous the second it escaped but there was nothing else, no other explanation that came to mind.

The fact was: there were no people. No bodies. No blood. Just…nothing. For just a fraction of a second, he wondered if someone had set it all up to fuck with him.

A pair of vending machines came into sight and Jim found himself embarrassingly lunging for the number of cans that were scattered on the floor. The warm Pepsi was amazingly sweet as the flat liquid wet his throat. In that moment he didn't give a damn as the sugar filled his system, escaping at the corners of his mouth.

It was a primal reaction. Most likely his system was dangerously low, from a few days without food, drink perhaps. His senses were coming back and in response he crumpled the now empty can, tossing it on the floor with the rest.

Narrowed eyes examined one of the machines that appeared to have been pried open at the corner with more force than the standard vandalism. A fact to be aware of that made him distinctly uncomfortable.

Jim turned his thoughts back to the remaining drinks within range. One more glance around the building and he decidedly assured himself there would be no telling when he would find some again. A nearby plastic bag was the most convenient means, so Jim quickly began filling it with what unused cans he could find.

Sticky, drying liquid clutched to the once white shoes as he stood back up. It was time to go.

With a final once-over of the deadly calm of the hospital corridors, Jim stepped out onto the looming balcony outside.

The sky was beautiful, displaying an early morning glow. Ambulances were still parked outside as if waiting for a shift to start, but nothing moved. Some birds could be heard; singing merrily to the absent audience and that was how Jim found himself walking, albeit a little less cheerful.

The minutes seemed to drag as he wandered the empty streets, feeling oddly like a tourist in the once-familiar city; passing abandoned cars and once profitable merchandise that now merely littered the expanse. There were places he never dreamed would ever cease the bustling day-to-day routine were now frozen, as if posing for a photo.

Everything passed in a daze as Jim practically stumbled along at times, taking in the sights. His body felt weak. As he walked felt the aches that would have probably disabled him, he mused, had his heart not been pounding with the anxiety of his situation.

His fingers pulled at the beard that had grown in and quickly decided he didn't like the foreign coarseness.

Jim glanced to the side, seeing a brushed bicycle on the street corner, tires deflated, and the memory flashed with an insistence that wouldn't allow it to be ignored. He had been a currier. Taking a package to…and that's when the access was denied once again.

There was something important about that package, he was certain. A defining moment that slipped through his thoughts just at the edge.

"Hello?!" Jim tried again, having reached an empty stretch of the Westminster Bridge. There were no boats, no running cars. If there were at least bodies, he could assume a war, or some natural disaster. But it was nothing more than a ghost city.

The rest of the morning dragged along in a similar state. Vacant streets and buildings that he could only assume were empty. No one ever emerged. There were no movements, no voices. The air was calm and when it wasn't making him nervous as hell it was pissing him off.

As long as he stayed in the sun the chill wasn't too bad, however the continuous walking was a task which was quickly growing old.

A silver Nissan was the perfect target, sitting wide in the open street, and Jim headed towards it with purpose. It wouldn't have taken much to get it to work, key provided or not, but a stream of curses followed as the car alarm sounded loudly in the otherwise quiet block.

It was the _sign_, Jim told himself, that he needed to walk anyway. He only offered a final mean-mug glance behind at the vehicle before walking away.

The further in he traveled, the more clues started to surface: papers strewn on the ground. A looted newspaper stand became his highest lead. "Evacuation" was the title on the front, revealing pages of information about a massive outbreak and the country falling to into chaos.

_State of Emergency__. __The military ordered to 'shoot to kill.'__Checkpoints overrun__._

Looking up from the abandoned stand stood the proud statue of Eros, holding a collage of names and faces of the missing. It seemed that for a little while at least, people were out on these very streets, desperately searching for loved ones and giving any information that they thought would help.

Photographs. Pictures colored by children. Phone numbers. Addresses. Contacts.

However, they all now seemed long gone.

"Great…" Jim murmured to no one in particular. "I've just landed myself in hell."

He looked away, down the extending roads that offered no other advice. He needed to find someone…anyone…living. His mind spun with one answer at the end of it: Where do those left behind lost go in times of trouble?

Jim's feet turned him in the direction of the nearest church.

_**++&&&&++**_


	3. Sanctuary

_**++&&&&++**_

Jim had never considered himself religious. Of course the way his memory was holding up at the moment, he wouldn't put anything past himself. And as the doors opened to the holy building, the black rankness nearly overpowered him, followed by a distinct feeling that this could be a very bad idea.

Despite the warning Jim found himself entering the lonely grounds, after all, what could he have to fear? The walls were patched with broken light and the wood glistened with years of care.

_Care for what?_ In the end it lay forgotten like the rest, seeming to be nothing more than a hopeful escape. The forsaken hush from the rafters was almost worse than in the streets.

As he made his way up a darkened stairway Jim couldn't help but sneer at the graffiti. Large, haggard letters filled the space. _Repent. The end is extremely fucking nigh._

He should have probably taken the hint but stubbornly continued up, his footsteps echoing through the building. The flies were more frequent, the stench grew more rancid. It didn't bother him as much as he knew it should.

As the balcony opened up to view the nave, his heart broke at the sight. It looked like a massacre. Children, parents…there was a couple holding hands even in death. Bodies torn apart ways he didn't think possible. The messages at the statue had led him to believe this was a disease of sorts, yet this looked like no disease he had ever heard of.

Jim took a step back, "Hello?"

His voice hung in the rank air, not really expecting an answer but not afraid to take a chance.

There was a movement below, in the pews, which made him uneasy as two figures quickly rose to their feet and faced him. They remained motionless, making no attempt to communicate. Jim wondered if he should be the first to break the silence.

But then the scratching came.

At least that is the only thing the man found himself comparing the noise too. It came from behind a closed door on the other side of the balcony where he stood.

Hoping for a response, he called out once more, only encouraging the scratching to grow stronger until it soon clang violently, finally flinging the heavy door aside to reveal the perpetrator.

A single priest emerged, stumbling forward. His movements were haggard at best; his limbs jerking as he moved closer and his face hidden in shadow.

"Father?" Jim attempted, answered with only a gurgling, throaty series of noises. His body tensed, unfamiliar with the sort of threat he could be facing. "Are you okay?"

The priest began to advance rapidly and when his eyes came into sight Jim immediately knew he couldn't let the man any closer. They were red. Hardly the signs of a late night out, but instead an unnatural, sickly tone that consumed nearly every trace of white that had once been there.

Blood streaked the priest's face and blackened clothes, so Jim did the first thing that came to mind as the man lunged forward within range. Gripping the plastic, can-filled bag tightly Jim pulled it back and swung, clipping the other man on the side of the head.

His attacker fell roughly to the ground but it hardly deterred him. Where he couldn't get to his feet, the creature crawled, fingers gripping the wooden floorboards as Jim stood with confused disbelief at the very situation.

He had just struck a priest.

"Oh…I shouldn't of done that."

The priest seemed to have no sign of cognateness, snarling angrily as he continued trying to pull himself forward. Jim cursed again, torn between what he shouldn't have done, and what the hell to do next. "I shouldn't of done that"

His hand still held the limp plastic, shaking. He told himself it was only his sugar level.

So this was what had happened to all those people downstairs. The city? All of England? His mind raced, trying to make sense of it all, but how do you make sense of something that should remain on the screen of a horror flick?

_Noises_…

Those people downstairs…they weren't right. They saw him, and were moving…fast.

"…oh shit…" Jim stumbled back, catching a single glance behind before running out the nearby door. It didn't take much willpower to fly down the stairs and out of the building, distinctly aware of chase now at his heels.

Jim tore down the streets with what could only be described as an attunement of fear and confusion. He could hear the creatures behind him, loud and clumsy in their attack but faster than he could have ever imagined, and his own pace was quickly draining.

Then he saw the flames, waving ahead of him like beacons and held by men in masks. But it was hardly the time to argue loyalties. They were gesturing, calling, directing him closer, and he certainly had no objection to that.

Jim's steps were ragged as he pushed himself harder, refusing to pause, and his breath followed suite with strain.

A burst of fire flew to his right, shattering against a building.

"Over here!" The voice cried out desperately and he quickly changed direction once more. "Over here!" It was more than one voice.

Fire continued to rush past him, thrown one after another onto the pursuing attackers.

However, when he reached the arsenal, Jim kept running. Perhaps they wanted to remain behind and fight, but what he wanted was to get away. The cries of 'come on' and 'over here' continued in his wake when he realized the men had begun to follow his trail.

Then he realized, they were not shouting to him, but the creatures.

He struggled for breath, chest seizing, and he stumbled on the pavement. He felt a hand grip his arm roughly, urging him to keep on his feet and pulling him onward. It was a heart-stalling second before Jim realized it was one of the masked men.

"Hurry! Keep going, they are coming!" The masked figure who had pulled him away was most certainly not a man.

The stranger never loosened her hold, dragging him around the targeted building and throwing Jim prone against the cold brick wall. The other figure hadn't come back into sight yet but Jim decided not to hesitate at this chance for answers.

"What is going on?!"

"Shut up!" she replied roughly. "Just shut up!"

The other figure came around the bend and positioned himself.

"Hold on!" the man cried, and Jim devastatingly realized there were just the two of them. "Hold on Lisa!"

The explosion was fast and deafening; ripples of heated flames filled the air and blew out the windows of the structure that had become their cover. Jim was thankful they weren't standing in the path as the glass shattered from the inside out, but still he covered his face until it was over.

"Whoohoooooo……..!"

The stranger was obviously pleased, his enthusiasm rang loudly despite his hidden face and the pair seemed to visibly relax with confidence. But the victory meant nothing for slowing down. The billows of smoke and debris were still falling as the pair began to move again.

"Let's go. Let's go!"

"Please…." Jim attempted. "Tell me what the fuck is going on…."

The request was ignored as they started running again.

The pursuits had ceased, from what he could tell, as they passed through the open streets and into the London Underground, but they refused to slow even for an instant. Despite his attempts at questioning and random bouts of curses, they never responded with anything more than to hurry or shut up.

_**++&&&&++**_

Eventually they reached a small side store. The quick stop increased the burning ache in Jim's muscles from the strain, but he remained silent on the issue.

The shop was mostly filled with snack goods. Overflowing, it could have been described as. One couldn't help but notice the sight even as Jim was hustled inside with no delicate care and the gates were slammed and latched behind. The floor was scattered with a menagerie of canned sodas and candy. The vision reminded him briefly of a child's dream of candy houses and lollipop lanes.

He wondered what sort of demons they were exactly, that lurked just outside in the dark.

The woman ripped off the confining mask and Jim caught a glimpse of auburn hair but little else as she turned away to examine his small stash of sodas. The other stood over him, menacing in the get-up, and Jim found himself backing far, very far, into the corner.

The woman looked back toward him briefly and narrowed her eyes.

"A man walks into a bar with a giraffe…" the man started. His voice was breathy through the mask, muffling his words.

Jim was silent from his seat, observing with wide eyes, muscles tense, expecting the worst, and wondering if the world had gone mad.

"…They both get pissed," the stranger continued. "The giraffe falls over. The man goes to leave and the bartender says, 'Oi. You can't leave that lyin' there.' And the man says, 'No. It's not a lion. It's a giraffe'."

The silent pause was awkward. The sound of his breathing reminded Jim of Darth Vader, nearly expecting the man to take off his head with a light saber. Since waking up, Jim wouldn't have been surprised if he did.

The stranger went on to pull off the equipment, revealing the relatively young features of a blue-eyed man. He studied Jim, as though expecting something to be wrong with him.

"He's completely humorless," the man finally remarked with a disapproving shake of the head. He pulled something off a shelf, a food product most likely, and started towards the other side of the small room.

"You two should get on like a house on fire," the blue-eyed man addressed the woman.

The woman, however, had drawn courage to bring herself to sit across from the man she had once known as Jackson, her eyes watching his every move intently. She wasn't sure what to think at that moment. It was ironic, to have survived as long as she had, only to be sitting across from the very man who, only a few months ago, had threatened her and her family.

If circumstances were different, she would have left him there for the infected, and even now the trouble could be more than it was worth.

He looked terrible.

Lisa remembered how lean a frame he sported before, but it could be defined as nothing more than gaunt now. His cheekbones were sunken and his eyes wide with what appeared to be fear. It could have been amazement. In any case she never expected to see that look in the eyes of Jackson Rippner, ever. Not if he could help it.

Apparently he was beyond control in that sense. His hair hung in ragged strands, parts trimmed and parts wild, blending with the brush that had grown on his face.

"You came from the hospital?" Lisa found herself asking the question as curiosity won.

She wouldn't put anything past him, but last she had heard he was sitting pretty in a coma back in the States. As far as England…she thought the hospitals were long since deserted, or looted. How he had survived this long was a mystery she wanted…needed…to hear.

"Are you a doctor?" the other male voice inserted suddenly.

"He's not a doctor," Lisa stated with an angry tone. Her eyes flashed back to Jim, her lips pursed. "Why don't you tell the man what you do, Jack." She spit out the name with a spiteful tone.

"You two know each other?" The man seemed only slightly surprised and more curious.

"I…I don't remember," Jim stuttered in his uncertainty, suddenly feeling on the spot.

The woman didn't look familiar to him. She was pale, but the color was far from sickly. He sensed she didn't get out much these days. With circumstances what they were, he wasn't surprised. Her lips were dry, untainted with lipstick, but still he couldn't deny she was attractive. The accent was clearly American.

"Of course not," she started. "I wouldn't expect that Jackson…"

"James…," Jim corrected. The name she had stated sounded oddly familiar, yet with it followed a taste of disgust. "My name is James…Jim. Jim Donovan. I'm a bicycle currier. I was…I was delivering a package."

Jim turned away, trying to control his breathing. His heart still hadn't calmed, and his head throbbed even more intensely. Apparently his time in the hospital left something to be desired. And those creatures…they couldn't be…

"I can't remember what happened," he tried to explain. He needed to explain. "It's all blurred. I woke up in the hospital…I'm hallucinating…or I'm…"

Jim paused. What if he had gone completely mad? It was possible. Perhaps, this was all just a horrid nightmare. As he moved the ache in his body was a harsh verification that he wasn't dreaming.

Lisa saw it in his eyes and was fascinated. The confidence was gone, the arrogance. There was nothing in the mannerisms of the man in front of them that reminded her of Jackson Rippner: the man who had come into her life and attempted to use her as his pawn.

Even his accent held a hint of…what as that? Irish? It wasn't thick, but different from what she expected to roll off his tongue.

What the hell had happened, and more importantly why hadn't she left him for dead?

"Well…I'm Mark," the other man introduced. "…and this is Lisa." He motioned to the suspicious woman before taking a breath.

"Okay, Jim," Mark got up from his perch on the far counter and moved closer. He dropped to sit by the frightened new addition. All they needed was a campfire to add to the moment.

Mark tossed an amused expression at Jim before letting the news drop. "I've got some bad news."

Jim snickered at the obvious.

"It started as rioting," Lisa's voice drew his attention, sobering the situation. "From the beginning we knew it was different because it was happening in small villages, market towns. Then it wasn't on the T.V. anymore, it was in the street outside…."

Her voice caught in her throat, "It was coming in your windows. It was a virus, an infection. You didn't need a doctor to tell you that."

Her eyes never left Jim's, a steady, hardened gaze that still filled with unshed tears.

"It was the blood. Something in the blood. By they time they tried to evacuate the cities it was already too late, the infection was everywhere. The army brocades were overrun and that's when the Exodus started."

She paused briefly, her voice finding strength once more. It seemed like a quiet anger, "The day before the radio and T.V. stopped broadcasting there were already reports of infection in Paris and New York. We didn't hear anything more after that."

Jim couldn't help but be sympathetic, although his anger rose out of further reasons. The world seemed to have spiraled into a bleak wreckage, and hopeless wasn't something he was ready to accept.

"What about the government…what did they do?"

"There is no government." Her statement was simple and far from logical.

"Of course there's a government. There's always a government." He found himself certain beyond anything, yet he couldn't explain it. Perhaps it was only a reasoning he longed for. Worst case scenario…"They're…they're in a bunker, or a plane…"

Mark sighed with a calm finality. "No…there's no government. There's no police. No army, no T.V., no radio, no electricity..."

Lisa wouldn't return Jim's gaze. She stared blankly away lost in apparent thought.

"You're the first uninfected person we've seen in six days," Mark continued.

"You're American, aren't you?" Jim questioned, watching for Lisa's response. She turned roughly to him with a look he couldn't place. "Why didn't you go back? Where's your families?"

Lisa remained silent.

"Chaos happens quickly," Mark continued to explain. "My family is dead. As Lisa's most likely is."

"Even yours will be dead too," she finally remarked.

Lisa wasn't sure if he would understand the double meaning of her reference, but the certainty of it was undeniable. Whatever his business, or the people behind it…there was little need of it now.

From what she had seen, even the highest levels of power wouldn't be able to find refuge for long. And random survivors like herself? They were only sitting to rot as they tried to prolong the inevitable.

Jim pursed his lips defiantly as he stood to his feet. He felt his legs tremble at the action, but tried to hide the weakness.

Everything in him wanted to accept the details they had provided, but he needed to see for himself. If there were other survivors then just maybe they made it somewhere safe too. Perhaps even hidden in their own homes.

What if his parents…?

"Look, I have to find them…" His voice held a new determination. "They live in Deptford. I can walk it from here, okay."

The responded look in their eyes told him it was impossible.

He couldn't have placed the exact moment he started, but there he was, pacing in the small quarters. Confined aggravation, he clearly demised.

Jim felt helpless, and he hated it. His jaw tensed as his hands gripped the bars to their tiny cell as a string of curses growled out of his throat and the gates rattled. It was a vicious sound as they clanged in protest, but he frankly didn't care who heard. His gaze fixated on the closed doorway.

They had no right to keep him, and with or without them, he needed to get to that house.

"If you're going, you won't come back," Lisa interrupted without making any move to stand.

"Yes I will!"

"You won't!" The woman's voice had grown calm and it resembled an explanation to a child, which infuriated him even more. "No one ever comes back."

He pushed against the bars in one final, angry release before attempting to regain composure, eyes closing as he took in a breath. The air was damp.

Lisa leaned back, curious of this bout of passion. Trust was not something that came to mind when she thought of him, but the concern for those people appeared sincere. She believed he would manage to find them, one way or another.

She just wondered how long it would take until he remembered where she was placed in the mix.

"So lesson one," Mark jarred Lisa from her musing as his voice rang from his seat. "You never go anywhere alone, unless you have no choice. Lesson number two," he held his fingers up in emphasis of the number. "Only travel during daylight, unless you've got no choice."

Mark stood with a decision, entering a shadowed corner of their hide-a-way. "We'll take you tomorrow. We'll all go to find your dead parents tomorrow, okay?" He tossed a box of cookies towards the thin figure. "Eat."

_**++&&&&++**_

It took a while for Jim to relax enough to consider something as simple as eating. Mark was already asleep by the time he decided to open the packet.

The food felt foreign to his body and the normally comforting starch was nothing more than weight. He felt the woman's eyes on him, intensely aware he wasn't the only one having trouble sleeping. The way she watched his every move was not a casual appreciation.

"What is it you think I did to you?"

"There is nothing to think about."

Her response was quicker than he had expected, as though she were merely waiting for him to ask. She didn't hesitate to continue, "You threatened my family and tried to force me to assist in an assassination on the Head of Homeland Security in the US. How much more clear can that get?"

"Wait here, I did what?" The blow seemed surreal, even beyond everything else of the day. She couldn't be serious. He still couldn't make out her eyes but there was no mistaking her target.

"I couldn't let that happen. He wasn't the only target. His family was there and I couldn't let you hurt the family."

Lisa found herself exhausted at the memory even though it seemed so far away, considering. She tilted her head back to rest against the wall, "You still have the scar on your neck where I plunged the pen. I'd know the mark anywhere. I should have left more for you to remember me by since that doesn't seem to have worked."

She smiled despite herself, remembering the shoe…but the gun shot had bothered her more than it should have.

_He would have killed us_, she reminded herself. _Wouldn't he?_

Jim's hand instinctively touched the base of his neck. It had healed over well, into a small scar now that he passed off as a tracheotomy somewhere in his past. He assumed it had something to do with the hospital mystery that had become the least of his worries.

"You spent some time at the Jackson Memorial in Miami, of all places. They said you needed to recover from the gunshots before they would be able to take you into custody. Last I heard you had relapsed into a coma."

"How long ago was that?" Jim asked, trying to remember any of the details but coming up short.

"It's been about a month and a half now, maybe?" Lisa leaned back with a tired sigh, "I thought I would never forget it, but some more important things have come up and I've lost track. Just been getting through the day. Right?"

She chuckled but there was no mirth in her tone. "Figured it would be good for me, getting away. They offered me a couple weeks vacation after the event and I decided to take it. As a gesture of goodwill they even had the security on my flights enhanced, so I decided what the hell. Brought a friend of mine with me to London."

The expression on her face was enough to tell the story, but it vanished quickly as she was brought back to reality.

Her lips tensed, "They never told me you were being moved here of all places. If they had I never would have come. I could have been home with my dad, even if all this shit crossed the ocean." The way the emotions rolled off her tongue made it clear it wasn't an observation. It was a condemnation.

"Lisa, I don't remember anything." He couldn't think of any defense other than that and it sounded pitiful even to his own ear. It seemed impossible to just lose events, a lifestyle, like the one she described. Even only knowing half of the story. There had to be more to it all.

Who was she? What did she do to him? And worse yet, what had he done to her?

"Why should I believe you?!" She hissed in the dark with no effort to hide her contempt. "What possible reason do I have to believe someone who I've known to be…"

"I don't lie."

The words pierced her stronger than a knife ever could. The familiar words an echo of the place and events that seemed so long ago.

"You never had to lie to deceive the people you needed to."

The statement felt like a slap and he wished he understood why. When it came down to it, he couldn't remember her face, her voice, nothing of what she was claimed. But what reason did he have not to believe her?

The woman had turned away from him and was lying on the tiled floor. Lisa remained still, looking rather uncomfortable but Jim wasn't about to say anything. He knew she wasn't asleep yet and it was clear their conversation was over.

_**++&&&&++**_


	4. Cabernet

_**++&&&&++**_

The morning was chilly. They had given Jim a spare jacket, but it only helped a little in the gloomy air.

Lisa refused to even look at him since their talk the night before, let alone offer conversation. She walked quickly along the desolate tracks that had been dubbed the safest, quickest way to their destination. A brown, leather duster was held tight around her body.

Mark hung back when he noticed Jim trailing behind. If Lisa wasn't going to keep an eye on the newcomer, he would have to pick up the slack. "If you want her to slow down, just say something, okay?"

Jim nodded in reply but said nothing. Despite his condition, the last thing he wanted was to waste more time.

They walked most of the day, the sun low in the sky by the time they arrived at the brick home.

"If there is anyone in there…" Lisa started, holding up her weapon of choice to the retreating form.

As Jim had learned through the prolonged day of silence, the machete seemed to stay on her person at all times. There were times he wondered if he should feel comforted by that knowledge or concerned.

"I understand," he interrupted, hardly listening to her words. On one hand he understood well the danger, on the other was the blatant fact it was his parents' house. Something that always brought a sense of comfort and security.

"…anyone at all…"

He wasn't listening anymore and the pair found themselves soon following in his steps.

The inside of the home seemed surprisingly undisturbed. Jim tossed the key on the counter. The hidden location out front had always been handy.

The eerie silence that had become so common on the streets now resonated in the memory-filled home. Jim half expected to find his mother cleaning off a counter in the kitchen or walk in from the living room. Perhaps call down from upstairs in her excitement over his grand entrance.

He started up the stairs and the smell Jim noticed upon first opening the house grew stronger. He had hoped he could ignore it just a little bit longer. It reeked of death and neglect.

Jim didn't have to call to his parents because he knew there would be no answer. He felt his eyes water and a grip on his arm.

"Wait!" the voice hissed, but he would have none of it. He tore out of the grasp and pushed the door open to their room.

He stood for moments, hours, not knowing if he should move any closer, or even if he could. It felt like a lifetime since he had seen them and this newly imprinted memory was not a pleasant one.

They lay together on the bed after what could have been weeks. His mother's arm was outstretched lovingly over his father, clutching a photo he remembered easily from his early years. He felt like he would be sick.

Pills still lay on the side table beside a mostly finished wine bottle. A used glass sat closest, the deep red liquid dried into the bottom. He couldn't help but think if only he had been here…if only his accident never happened, perhaps, just perhaps he could have stopped this. He could have saved them.

He could have saved her.

He risked leaning closer to pull the photo out of his mother's once beautiful hand, quickly covering her body with the bed sheet. His essence bled with sorrow and anger, jaw clenching tightly as his head bowed.

She was a strong, stubborn woman…a quality he always loved. She never would have given up. Moving silently, he crossed the hall to his old bedroom.

The others had not been waiting for him and it was at least one thing to be thankful of. Everything in the lonely room was still the way he had left it, from images on the wall, to the guitar in the corner. He sat on the edge of the neatly made bed simply staring at the image in his hand.

Growing up, they never could have predicted all of the shit he was now faced with. _Innocent times_.

He looked at the image with empty emotion, flipping it around to the back. A message had been written and it was clearly made after his hospital stay.

'Jim- With endless love, we left you sleeping. Now we're sleeping with you. Don't wake up.'

It was with that moment that he broke, a gasp of sorrow escaped as he held his hands to his face. He felt the forbidden tears fall and for that moment, it was okay to give in. There was no one to comfort him, there was no one left who could understand the loss. To the rest, they were just casualties like everyone else who had passed away. All those other mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers…so many others.

They would never understand that it was not his mum's handwriting.

Jim took in a breath as he composed himself once more. Wiping away the tears a final sniffle finished it off. There was no more time to mourn. He had to be strong for her, for all of them.

Downstairs the other two had made themselves comfortable on the living room couches. The house appeared secure at the moment. Doors were locked, nothing looked broken into and hopefully it would remain like that until they could be well enough away. It was quiet when Jim came back down and took a seat in the armchair.

There was nothing really to say that would help the situation any. Nothing would make it all better.

"They died peacefully, you should be grateful." Lisa didn't know if she was trying to comfort him. Lord knows she had no reason to, yet the tone was almost gentle.

"I'm not grateful." The response sounded harsher than he meant, but the fact remained it could have been prevented and he hadn't been there. _Have you ever been there?_

It was still in the cozy room as the trio sat across from each other. Jim ignored the other two, distracted in his own deep thoughts. When Mark's voice broke the air, it immediately drew attention.

"I am." He spoke hesitantly. "My parents, and my sister, we went to Paddington Station."

His seemed uncertain at revisiting the painful memory. "Hoping…maybe we could get on a plane, maybe we could buy our way on a plane. My mum and my da', they had all this cash." There was a snicker at the irony. "Even though cash was completely useless."

Lisa had never heard his tale before and her own experience made her heart sink at what was inevitably coming. Her security grip on the blade tightened despite the calm.

" 'Bout twenty thousand other people had the same idea. The crowd was surging." Mark's eyes veered to his empty hands and Jim was certain his mind had drifted into the memory. There would be no closure until he was finished.

"I lost my grip on my sister's hand." His hand reflectively clenched, "I remember…the ground was soft. I looked down, and I was standing…on all these people."

Disgust filled his features and if there were any persisting ideas of interruption they were hastily quenched.

"Like a carpet, people…who had fallen, and somewhere in the crowd there were infected. It spread fast. No one could run…the only thing you could do was climb, climb over more people." He paused, taking a breath. Mark's hands were trembling by that point and Jim realized the man had never told this account before. "So I did that. I climbed, and I got up onto this kiosk." The man looked up in a way that seemed as though he were pleading for forgiveness.

"Looking down, you couldn't tell which faces were infected and which weren't. Then I saw my dad, not my mum or my sister, my da'." His own features flinched with the memory, struggling to find the right words. "His face…."

Even if he could have described it, the effect would have been the same. They had taken up silence once more with that end to the story. Mark offered one last testament, "Lisa's right. You should be grateful."

The subject needed to be changed, and quickly. Lisa's mind went into action as she began to focus on their next step. The evening hour shadows had already begun an approach.

"We don't have time to get back to the shop before dark," she stood, beginning to ascertain their surrounding, merely verifying what they already knew. "We should stay here tonight."

Jim remembered the guest beds, for the moment forgetting the smell they had already seemed to grow accustomed to. "You can use the two empty rooms up top. I'll stay here."

"No," she insisted a little too quickly, her tinge of fear covered with sensibility. It was always her commands that mattered, Jim noticed. He had to respect it. "We should all sleep in the same room. It's safer."

There would be no second-guessing her decision and they started the preparation for an uneasy rest. Within a minutes Lisa was asleep after a half-hearted promise from Mark to take the first watch. However his eyes drifted closed a few minutes after.

Jim, on the other hand, could find no sleep and had soon stood, walking through the dark rooms. His thoughts kept busy as flashes of names, places, and images emerged in ways he didn't understand and nothing coming together into sense. It was doing nothing to help his throbbing headaches.

His pacing led him to the kitchen entrance and he looked briefly around the once familiar room. There were things that shouldn't be there. Objects that he couldn't remember; the fridge was new, the kitchen walls repainted in a warm tone.

He hadn't taken the time to notice them at first glance, when he nearly raced through the tiled room with anxious thoughts about the occupants. But now, looking around, he scolded himself for the lack of observation.

The lighter was easy to find, one of a few in their old spot. He retrieved a near-by candle and lit the wick as he moved closer to the fridge for a better look. The flame illuminated a number of memories as he spied a recipe book that rested on the top.

His mother didn't cook often, but she still had collected a mix of her favorites inside. He was nine when he had made it for her one Mother's Day. Clever, she had called him, her clever little boy. He couldn't resist touching one of the images posted on that fridge door and the world seemed to freeze in response as the memory overcame him.

The scene was not expected, nor was the earlier version of himself: suit, no tie. He was all smiles but the emotion seemed restrained and almost sad. Looking from the outside one couldn't tell, but _he_ knew. His mum entered the open doorway with an armful of groceries. He could practically touch her, she was so real.

"Jim," his mother held a wide, knowing smile as she placed a carton of orange juice before him. It was a token of gratitude and in mere seconds he gave in to the unmannered urge to drink it straight, no need to wait for a glass.

"You're back," the relieved tone of his father stated as he entered into sight. His mother only offered a quietly mumbled 'yeah' in reply. She did not seem pleased. Something had happened that day. He remembered driving his mum home.

"Give me some of that, would you?" the older man motioned to the carton. Jim's anger flared, although he was having trouble remembering the cause.

"It's empty." He lied.

As the man turned with a shrug Jim had an unexpected revelation about his father: the man had made a deal with the devil, a deal which left Jim with a sickening residue of a memory he could just almost...

Like that, the memory ended.

A noise from the ceiling above had pulled him out of the trance. However, it was the crashing of the glass doors behind him that screamed trouble. Literally, in high-pitched tones and angry flailing of what Jim soon realized had once been a neighbor.

Another attack from the skylight sent him to the ground under the heavy weights of the two figures. Their red eyes dripped with streaks of blood that reminded him fleetingly of tears.

"Fight!" a masculine voice commanded as Mark came into the room, pulling the daughter's form off of Jim. "Fight!"

Jim didn't need to be reminded as he found himself struggling to keep the heavy man's hands from his face although his weakened body contested the effort. He managed to get a hold of the wrists but there was little else his body would allow and he wanted to curse. Instead he clenched his eyes closed at the creature's attack, willing for an act of God.

They opened only briefly in time to see Lisa's approaching form, the machete held tightly in her hand and a look of the devil in her eye. He prayed he would never be the victim of such anger. The blue eyes closed again with little time left as he felt the splatter of warm liquid tarnish his face. It had turned to chaos with cries and blood before both intruders went limp.

In a flash of panic, Jim began to push the dead form off of him. He found himself moaning in disgust at the hacked flesh of the man he once knew. He had never been one for gore. The other two were recovering as well, Mark standing over the body of Jessa.

She had only been fifteen.

Jim continued to push his way through the shattered glass, resting against the fridge door as he struggled for composure. It was a mess, and he had done little other than lay in his panic. He might as well shit himself; it would have been more productive. He couldn't contain his eyes from wandering over the carnage.

"That's Mr. Bridges," he pointed to the corpse in shock and disbelief. He had known the man once, with those eccentric barbeques.

"Were you bitten?" He looked up to the woman, surprised to see her keeping a distance. The machete was held up in accusation, the blade lined with fresh red stains that still dripped down the handle.

"That's his daughter…" He tried to explain but he was starting to realize it didn't matter. These were no longer the people he knew. "They lived four doors down…"

"Were you bitten?!" Lisa practically screamed the words at him in demand. They didn't have time to play around or wait for him to come to his senses.

A small part of her prayed he hadn't. No matter how much he might have deserved justice, no one deserved that. No one. That same small part that was terrified of facing this threat alone. Did it always come down to her fear?

Jim scanned the exposed skin in a daze. There was some blood, but none of it was his own as he smeared it, revealing untouched skin underneath. From the corner of his eye, Mark seemed to be doing the same on the far side of the kitchen.

"Did any of it get in your mouth?" The second question was calmer, although no less urgent. A trembling shake of the head was the reply. He saw Lisa glance at other man in the room and Jim could practically feel her heart drop.

"Mark?" Her throat went dry, eyes watering in protest.

They had traveled together in this hell for just over a week, yet it seemed like a lifetime. Now he stood there, trying to wipe the blood from around a wide lesion on his arm. As if feeling her gaze, Mark looked up with an expression fear. Whether it was over the prediction of her actions or his, they never would have had a chance to ask. Long ago the traveling companions had made their intentions clear to the each other. If there were ever a chance, if there was no other way, they would not hesitate.

"Wait," he pleaded, suddenly regretting the pact.

"I'm sorry…" Her voice was strained with painful clarity but it never slowed her movements, hitting the arm first with the sharp blade. He cried out in anguish as he crumpled to the floor. A second move flew across his neck, quick, his cries stifling into the retched gurgle of death.

Jim couldn't see from his place on the floor but the newly-found silence told enough. Lisa stood over the body, her shoulders slumped and trembling with grief. She looked up, spotting a roll of paper towels on the counter. With a quick toss they were thrown to Jim as he sat, blood drenched, in the corner.

Little Jack Horner sat in a corner, eating his Christmas pie. He put in his thumb and pulled out a plum, and said 'What a good boy am I?'

Paper was far from a pie. Jim caught only a passing glimpse of her silent tears as he stood unsteadily.

"Get that cleaned off," she hissed angrily before continuing to the shelves on the search for supplies. There was a backpack to fill and little time. She was searching for any means of distraction after her duty. "Do you have any clothes here?"

He watched her with mix admiration and mild irritation at the clear-headed transfer of conversation. _Always the resourceful one, Leese_.

"Uhm…I." What was there to say? He opted for the simple. "Yes."

"Then get them and get dressed!" Her voice was collected and determined. If one were to look at her petite form, they would have assumed she would be the type to break. "We have to leave, now! More infected will be coming. They always do."

Her tone had recessed almost compassionately. With one last look at the devastated room he turned to take her advice and find something to wear. If nothing else, it would be good to get out of the scrubs.

_**++&&&&++**_


	5. Tis the Season

_**++&&&&++**_

The streets held that eerie calm once again as the two survivors started their way back. They anticipated a long walk but it seemed even longer with the stretches of silence. Part of their lack of conversation was the concern of being heard, the other was a simple, stubborn refusal.

Jim flexed his hand around the handle of a firm wooden baseball bat. He had remembered to swipe it from the closet almost last minute as Lisa had already begun to walk out the door.

He had played up through high school, but there was never love for the game. It wasn't much of a weapon but it was something, held tensely at his side. The wood was smooth, clean. He knew the latter probably wouldn't last for long. At any moment, an excuse to use it could present itself. For the moment he settled for sporadic glances at his companion.

"How did you know?" Jim finally broke the inevitable again. The last time he asked the question, he got nothing in return. However, his intrigue seemed to never pacify and she was a key to it all.

He was concerned, wondering if she would be all right. There was no doubt at this point that she could handle her own, but the tears had finally escaped. She would push further ahead in an attempt to hide them, but he still saw.

As far as his curiosity, Mark had shown no signs of the virus. So Jim repeated, "How did you know he was infected?"

The sun had begun to fall into the horizon; at least they predicted that was the destination if cloud cover were not already cloaking the view. They still hadn't made it back yet. It had been Mark who knew the roads, familiar in his own city to show them the shortest route. This go was proving much more difficult and it was only igniting more tension.

"It was the blood." Her reply was soft, sounding exhausted.

"Yeah, but there was blood everywhere. It was on me, it was on you."

"I didn't know if he was infected. He knew." Lisa's voice never quivered. It was simply a fact to her, a terrible nightmare of a fact. Her pace quickened.

However Jim didn't seem convinced so she continued to explain, "I could see it in his eyes. Look, if someone's been infected you have between ten and twenty seconds to kill them. It might be your mother, or your brother, or your oldest friend, it makes no difference. All part of that male-driven, fact-based logic." She spit the words harshly, refusing to meet his eye, and Jim was left wondering why.

"If you're bitten," she continued. "…you're infected. If the blood gets into a wound, you're infected. If an infected person isn't killed, they will kill you or worse." Lisa stopped then, turning in her step to impress her opinion, "And just so you know where we stand on things, if it happens to you, I would do it in a heartbeat."

From the tone in her voice, he didn't doubt it in a second. Lisa turned away again, biting her lip angrily. He had opened the can, and she was more than welcome to share. She was walking again.

"He was full of plans. Stupid, idiotic, great plans. Do you have any plans, Jim? Something other than following whoever the hell pays the most like a damned lapdog?"

_Let her vent_, Jim reminded himself. It would be easier that way. Lord knows she probably deserved it…he probably deserved it. If thinking the worst of him would help, who was he to contradict her?

Even if he could have helped, the last person she wanted it from was him. She wouldn't break though. He admired her for that, how she refused to give in beyond the scattered tears.

"I had plans once," her voice suddenly seemed very tiny. "Things changed. Congratulations, Jim, bet you never guessed that in some sick, morbid way you ultimately prepared me for this one. I do what has to be done to survive. That's about as good as it gets."

Something caught his eye then, and he was glad for the distraction. They both needed it. Perhaps even a little ray of hope.

"Hey," he reached out and caught her arm. She didn't pull away. "Hey, what's that?"

She looked to where he had indicated and paused with bewilderment and not a small amount of excitement. Not far ahead was a welcomed flash of lights from an old sky-liner. They would dim and flare and Jim began to wonder if a Christmas pie wasn't still in order for the evening. Where there were lights, there should be people.

"Let's go," Lisa approved.

Jim followed quickly as the woman wouldn't slow for anything. He couldn't help but admire her stamina however his body felt the consequences. He couldn't remember eating much since they left the shop: a couple of sodas, but not much beside. The pangs had long since disappeared from his empty stomach.

_**++&&&&++**_

The pair approached the tall building with caution. The ramshackle appearance implied it had been deserted for some time with the dulled, chipping paint on the brick. The main entrance was latched securely so they wandered around, finding a path through the open garage without too much hassle.

There was only a single car that occupied the wide space. The black cab probably had once gone around the block more than a few times.

The further they moved in, the less daylight offered them assistance, making them both uneasy. Anything could be inside. But there was that hope, that small flicker which assured them that only the uninfected could have powered lights. It was a signal. There was nothing random about the display.

Lisa didn't need to remind Jim to stay close as she reached for the flashlight from her pack, courtesy of his family.

A wall had been blown apart and it didn't look like it had taken much effort. Tarps were draped over the exposed hole to the stairwells which Lisa prodded open with her weapon. The dim sound echoed louder than she had expected and they both froze in response. Moments passed, however, and there was no foreign sound, no movement, no attacks. So they continued.

The grass wasn't much greener on the other side, as they passed through the hall and found nothing new. There was an elevator but neither even bothered to examine it further, knowing there wasn't a chance. Shopping carts scattered the grounds, some thrown to the side, some piled.

As Lisa followed the trail closer, she realized they formed an amazingly intricate blockade. Unfortunately it was set directly in their path. She prayed they wouldn't have to return past with any sort of speed, moving one only to have it clang with protest against the quiet vacancy. They waited again for the echo to die into the distance, but still nothing acknowledged their presence.

"What is it about parking lots and shopping carts, huh?" Jim's teasing voice did nothing to lighten Lisa's mood. Her muscles tensed instantly at the reminiscent feeling it sparked.

Once, she could have thought it was charming. The casual tone, relaxed posture Lisa expected to see upon turning around. The more moments he displayed of the nice guy she hoped for, the harder it would be to forget who he really was.

"Just stop talking, alright?" She never turned around, only began climbing the mesh of wire to the small opening above.

The light, however limited, was comforting as they walked. One look up the extensive stairway gave an idea of just how far their destination was and suddenly Jim found himself intimidated. After the first two levels of climbing, he was already out of breath. He continued resiliently, not willing to give in to the weakness.

A number of levels further and he changed his mind, pausing to grip the rail for support. His chest heaved involuntarily in an attempt to catch his breath, his legs burning with weariness. His whole body seemed to tremble despite his longing for control. The dull ache in his head he assumed was only an added symptom.

He never expected her to stop.

"Do you need a break?" She had paused, rounding a corner to face him. Her features gave nothing away. He determinedly shook his head.

"No…" His voice remained painfully calm. "You?"

Lisa knew he was struggling and tried to ignore the sympathy that currently welled in her chest. _Suck it up_…he had told her once.

"No," she replied hastily.

He could have strangled her for sounding so damn cheerful except she had already started back up the stairs. One more step and his pride broke with a splitting pain.

"Alright, yes, I need a break!" he conceded.

The breathing was painful, but nothing compared to the now throbbing of his head. Jim slumped down, resting against the railing bars. He almost let go of the bat in his hand.

"Just a short break," Jim added.

There was a sigh as she turned back around and pulled her pack around. Lisa rested it at her side as she took a seat.

"What's wrong?" A look that almost resembled concern was passed in his direction and it reflected in her voice.

"Nothing." He knew it was a silly answer. "Just…I have a headache."

"Is it bad?" Lisa wasn't surprised. In fact she had been expecting it for some time.

"Yeah, it's pretty bad."

She sighed with a distinct hint of annoyance. "Well why didn't you say something before?"

"Well, because I really didn't think you'd give a shit."

For once Lisa was the one left without a retort. He was right. So why did she find herself worried about the bastard.

Opening up the backpack she started searching for anything that would help, even if only for a little, at least until they found someplace safer.

"You're thin, even for you." There was no insult in her tone. "And all you've had to eat is sugar so you're crashing. Basics of nutrition."

He looked up the small distance that separated them and found what almost seemed to be a hint of compassion. Jim could have commented some smart ass remark at her statement of the obvious, yet held his tongue. She was still the one holding the bag of supplies.

"Unfortunately, there's not a whole lot we can do about that at the moment," she continued, tossing a bottle of pills at him. "These pain killers should help, and we can get some more sugar in you for now."

Within moments she had two cans out. "We have Pepsi or Dr. Pepper." She held the choices out on display.

"Do you have any Tango?" He remembered spotting some on one of his parent's counters. Orange always was a favorite. He was a little surprised when she almost cheerfully replied that she should have some and began searching.

An unnatural shriek rang through the air and both jump instantly to their feet. The drinks were forgotten as the flashlight was directed downward. Lisa hissed for her companion to be quiet. Jim hadn't even uttered a word yet, although they rested on the tip of his tongue had she been a second later in her command.

She was certain of it, "That's an infected."

The words were whispered but there was no debating the seriousness. They could already hear the tarp being crossed, perhaps pulled apart. They waited for just that instance, praying the infected they wouldn't be able to find their way past the barricade. The prayers went unanswered as two figures crossed into the light's beam below, followed by the clangs of wire that signaled their approach.

"Oh no…" Lisa's tone was tired as she turned, grabbing the pack rapidly. "They're in. Move!"

She started up the stairs once more and Jim had no choice but to follow. He still hadn't recovered and felt a rising fear at the oncoming attack. The creatures had already crossed nearly half of the distance while they were still making labored progress.

"Lisa!" His tone was desperate, but the woman ahead of him gave no pause. "Please, wait!"

She ignored him, pushing her own way up. She didn't look behind, didn't pause, didn't know one way or another what was waiting ahead and if she didn't find it, who would?

Jim was strong. If she continued pushing hard enough, he would follow. Lisa vaguely heard him calling out behind her and found herself hoping she was right. Temptation gave in and she turned to check. He wasn't far, but the fear she swore flickered across his face seemed to fade instantly as she caught his eyes.

"Come on!" She shouted out encouragingly, turning again to run up. The only rest she would offer was to pause, checking he was still there and shout some more, although she wasn't even sure of the words anymore.

"Lisa!" His voice was closer now as she began to panic, not seeing any end to the effort. The sounds of the infected were growing closer too.

A tall figure suddenly appeared in front of them, catching Lisa off guard. She screamed with surprise and unbidden fear, stumbling before falling backwards entirely. A warm body caught her before she went far, his hands gripping her shoulders in support.

Lisa visibly relaxed as the armored body in front of them moved the shield to the side and motioned them past.

"Down the corridor, flat 157," the man commanded clearly, despite the slightly muffled words. He wore a helmet over his head, concealing any features. The costume implied the police, or Special Forces, or something better than what they had seen so far. "Move!"

They were quick to oblige, rushing up the series of steps and past his masked form.

"Thank you!" Jim offered quickly as they passed.

The man resumed his post, blockading the stairway with the heavy shield. Jim looked back to find a pair of infected being hit hard with a chosen blunt weapon. It was a crude but effective method.

He paused in the hall a distance away, where it was easy to keep an eye on both Lisa and the guard. His grip on the wooden bat was deadly but he felt as though his body would collapse at any moment.

Lisa passed though a gated hall, desperately searching the door numbers. 160, 159, 158…she reached 157, finding it peeked open, only to have it slammed shut a second later.

"Please! Open the door!" Her voice strained with fear. She could hear the fighting down the hall. Jim's focus was on the guard as he slammed one easily into the wall, smashing the other's head with angry force.

"Open the door!" He could hear her voice, but was strangely attentive to the blood as it splattered onto the railing. He forced himself away from the sight, moving fast to Lisa's side as she tried to enter the gated flat. "Open the door!"

Lisa beat her hand against the entrance until it cracked open again, revealing a young woman's face. "Where is dad?"

"What?" Lisa couldn't believe they had come this far, to be denied entrance because a girl wanted to know where her dad was. Any other time, and she might have empathized.

"Where is dad?"

"What? Open the damned door!" Jim glanced over the doors features, trying to figure out any other way in. It seemed tightly structured. He could make out a series of padlocks even from the small cracked opening.

"It's alright, Hannah," the guard's voice came from the hall entrance but they were too tense to realize the silence behind him. His voice was calm as he worked his way closer. It was clear the situation was handled. "Let them inside."

She immediately listened, unbolting everything to give the anxious pair entrance. They entered in a rush, pushing as far across the foyer as possible. There was a single, mottled glass door in that direction, gleaming with brilliant lights from behind. The man entered soon after, motioning them to keep going.

"Go on," he encouraged. "Go on in."

The girl quickly closed and latched the entrance as soon as he was inside.

They opened the foyer door, revealing a display of Christmas lights. A chime singing Frosty the Snowman filled the air quietly in the background. The guard proceeded to remove the gear, resting the large shield on a side counter and hanging the helmet by the door. Layers came off, including a mask that rested under the helmet.

It revealed a surprisingly friendly face, beard growing in at a scruffy yet still pale stage that matched his light colored hair. He approached with a smile, holding out a rough hand after removing the gloves. Jim guessed the man was in his forties.

"So…" He seemed slightly out of breath, but the smile never faded. "I'm Frank, anyway."

Jim took the hand first. His attempt to smile back didn't go as planned, but the grasp was firm. "Nice to meet you."

"Lisa," the woman offered as she took his hand herself. She gave a quiet smile. In another life she would have been all pleasantries.

"Really nice to meet ya." He seemed a little over enthusiastic, yet they instantly knew they had nothing to fear. "This is my daughter, Hannah."

He motioned to the young woman hiding timidly away on the other side of the room although she didn't seem as eager to meet the pair. Her arms were crossed over her chest and head kept tilted down. Her hair matched her fathers distinctly, pulled up into a casual tail.

"Come on, sweetheart, say hello."

She inched closer, slowly making her way to stand next to the robust man. She said nothing.

"So…that's great," He sounded like a man who had just received a present and left the newcomers with uncertainty. His gaze flickered around the room. "That's just great."

Everyone else remained quiet, not sure what was to come next.

"Cause for celebration, I'd say, yeah?" Frank looked to his daughter for support, but she didn't feel inclined to offer any. "How about you all just sit down, and uh…what…what have we got to offer?"

"We've got mum's crème de menthe," the girl replied after a moment. Her voice held a tinge of sadness that no one needed to ask about.

"Great," he replied softly, before turning to the other two. "Crème de menthe, aye. Look, sit, please. Get comfortable."

Frank moved out of the room in search of the treat. Lisa tossed a glance at Jim, holding his blue eyes for a moment. He finally had a chance to view her hazel ones clearly, but the moment was brief.

Lisa turned back to the girl in the room. She was young, perhaps sixteen?

"Where are the bloody glasses?" Frank's voice was muffled from the other room.

"Middle cupboard." The arms were still crossed, but Hannah seemed to relax a little as the two moved to take a seat in the small room.

"No…the good ones."

"Top cupboard."

The couch was awkward, sinking far back as they sat. The Christmas lights around the room blinked merrily as they waited. Jim looked around at the arrangement and was impressed considering the circumstances, even if everything seemed to be 'considering the circumstances' lately.

Where there weren't Christmas lights, there were candles, lit and scattered around the room. They all sat in silence as the father searched. Strangers together out of tragedy, what more could they ask?

"So, this is your place, eh?" Jim asked, nodding in approval as he attempted to break the ice with the teen. "It's…nice."

The attempt ended with nothing but more silence until Frank came back in, carrying a tray of brilliant green-filled glasses. The glasses themselves were delicately designed, a little much for the occasion.

They eyed the drinks cautiously. Lisa briefly wondered if she should mention an episode with mint Schnapps that put her off any mint flavored liqueurs, but wisely decided to not say anything. It would be disrespectful to decline a prized memory of the lost.

Frank passed out the glasses with immense pride. They all deserved a good drink.

"Well, it's not much, but, cheers." He lifted the glass in toast before taking a sip. Jim and Hannah took suite, while Lisa offered a smile, but made no move for the glass. Frank polished off his own rather quickly before moving to the battery pack and unclamping the lights' rig. The windows went dark.

_**++&&&&++**_


	6. The Man

_**++&&&&++**_

The light from the candles flickered softly in the room while Jim eyed them skeptically.

"I've already checked," Frank offered before the question had even been asked. "They can't be seen from the outside. No chances, right? The lights are only, well…you know, in case someone needs them."

The couple hadn't moved from their seats, shoulders touching as they remained close. Neither seemed to pay mind.

"Look, I'm sure you both want to get yourselves washed up a bit, yeah? Make yourselves a little more comfortable?" He seemed to be slowing down a little more, his voice growing tired. "Hannah? How about you show Lisa to your bathroom? Yes?"

It was hard, not to let her heart warm at the thought of something so simple as washing up. Lisa knew they were most likely running out of supplies. Everyone was running out of supplies if they were holed up still, after all this time. Still, she was thankful for the kind words, even more so for the use of a bit of water and the possibility of shampoo.

Her hair, she had been keeping pulled back for both safety and convenience. She could imagine the knots that had formed over the past few days.

"That would be really great," Lisa replied with the first real smile since entering the sanctuary.

Hannah nodded without a word, moving out of the room and down the hall. Lisa understood the indication to follow and forced her limbs from the comfort of the sunken couch.

"Well come on then," Frank's voice drew Jim's attention back to the current room; he hadn't realized he had continued to stare long after the girls had gone from sight. Frank had similar plans and soon Jim found himself following until they came to a small, bathroom door.

"There's a fresh razor, if you need it," the father informed cheerfully. He clung to a flickering candle, holding it out to the younger man who took it with thanks. "There's a bit of water in the cup there, some soap and some cloths under the sink."

The cup wasn't very large, Jim noted, but he didn't complain.

"I'll be out here if you need anything."

Jim closed the door behind him. It was a cozy bathroom, much like the rest of the apartment. Had it been a normal situation, he would have thought the living quarters too small for his personal taste, but here there was no room for discontent.

He set the candle down after lighting the other two that lined the counter, bringing his features better into the light. The reflection in the mirror was solemn, so Jim tried out a half-hearted smile. It didn't feel natural, but it was the best he could conjure.

The father and the girl, they had good hearts; perhaps better shown in time of tragedy. In any case, they seemed to need the company, and Lisa and he…well, they clearly could use the help.

Jim had almost forgotten the hat that covered his head, hiding away unruly dark strands that now did nothing but get in the way. With ease he pulled it away, taking a good, calm look at the scars that now adorned the side of his head. They were jagged lines, furnished to imply the aftermath of an accident.

Jim closed his lips firmly, eyes coming to focus back on themselves; blue eyes, with the fire reflected in the dark of the foreign room.

A face came to mind: angry features and a wide jaw. They struggled, and he was losing the upper hand. Jim remembered the blow to the head; it had felt like a plank and blackness soon followed.

His eyes narrowed, recalling distinctly that there had been no accident…at least to his skull.

Jim began to remove the shirts he had layered, revealing the injuries that he had chosen to ignore at first glance. There had been no pause to allow him to really consider the details. After all, the gunshots were nearly healed, only the vicious, flush scars remaining to give them away.

A strip of gauze still wrapped his forearm, but it didn't take much effort to remove them. The IV hole had since clotted and the signs of healing had taken place. Jim looked back up at the reflection, thankful he had never been one to bruise easily or he would have looked worse.

His eyes drifted to the scar at his neck and reached up, his fingers lingering over the old wound. There was nothing. No new memories, no revelations, nothing. With a final sigh of frustration, Jim glanced down at the welcoming razor.

It felt good to get the unnatural scruff off of his face. He had never been one for the rugged look.

Jim hissed as the blade nicked his skin, as it had a number of times before he had finished with the near-dry blade. It was better than nothing though, he figured and soon he might start looking like his old self. He paused, wondering if that was what he wanted.

There was a movement behind bathroom door and Jim could make out Frank's form behind the glass.

"Are you alright in there, Jim?"

How long had he been lost in through? Jim glanced once more at the small nicks that were scattered on his face and it hit him how crapper a job he was doing at the moment.

"Yeah," he finally answered, more annoyed with himself than the interruption.

"Sorry about the water," the other man apologized from behind the door. "If you need the toilet, the um…flush doesn't work. You'll have to use the bucket."

Jim couldn't resist a smile of amusement. He had never expected anything grand from the current circumstance. No person in their right mind should, and yet this man was trying to apologize for something no one could control. As if they could forget what was plaguing the streets at night and pretend everything was normal.

Putting down the razor, Jim closed the distance and opened door. The man clearly wanted to talk.

"We have to empty each morning. Uh, just chuck it over the balcony," Frank chuckled awkwardly in his explanation. "No concierge here."

Jim gave an appreciative smile. "It's alright."

Frank's eyes fell for a moment on the exposed scars, but he didn't acknowledge anything beyond a nod of the head.

"Right then." There was a pause as the two men stood across from each other.

"Look, it's getting late so I'm going to turn in. We have a spare room…" Frank whispered discretely as he pointed down the hall before turning back to Jim. "…down there. Are you and Lisa, um...?"

Jim picked up on the implication instantly, and while the image of her clad in little more than a pair of rose colored pajamas was pleasant, he forced it away with a shake of the head, "Oh, no…no. I'll um…I'll take the living room. It's fine."

"Oh, no," Frank responded, realizing his error with distinct embarrassment. "I mean, yes, that is. That's alright, good night then."

Jim nodded as the man started down the hall to his own room.

"Good night, Frank."

Again, he retreated into the bathroom, pausing before the mirror with a sigh. His gaze fell to the cabinet under the sink. Opening the drawer he spotted a pair of scissors, which he pulled out with a clear motive. They were small, but they would have to do.

_**++&&&&++**_

Lisa found the quiet of the small apartment calming, her nerves relaxing for the first time in weeks. For a while, with Mark, they had developed a system that worked well. When they had found the gated hovel it seemed like the best option available, but she had never allowed herself to relax. Not really.

But here, she looked around the vacant living room, it was a home. And it had been a long time since she had been home.

Framed images decorated the walls: happy faces, even if only posed before the camera because it was a family portrait. There was one of Hannah, with what appeared to be friends from school perhaps? Neighbors?

There were many pictures of a warm, pale faced woman with the father and daughter. The mother no doubt. Her hair was a darker hue of brown, cut into a soft shape over the shoulders that screamed soccer-mom.

There were images of Hannah as a child, playing with a round-faced pug dog. Lisa hated them herself. No, hate was a strong word. They were perfectly wonderful dogs, but even as a child she just could never describe the wrinkles as cute.

Lisa remembered the photos of her own that lined the counter tops and walls of her apartment back home. A knot was swallowed, rough in her tightened throat.

How many weeks had it been now, that she had been stuck in this hell? No contact one way or another to learn if the infection had really crossed over. If it hadn't…

Lisa quickly subsided that hope. If the infection hadn't reached America, they would have sent help. She was certain of it. The airwaves would be bursting with hopeful propaganda and meet-up destinations.

No…the United States was just as bad off as here. Her family was as good as dead.

The door opened, catching her by surprise. A quick swipe of the hand and the tears she had slipped were hidden.

Jim stood there, concern clear on his face. Jim. Jackson. Lisa still didn't know for sure who he really was. She wouldn't have been surprised in the least if Jackson had only been a pseudo name from the beginning. Even if he could tell her, she still doubted he would.

He stood there now, as though waiting for her approval to enter the room. Lisa took notice of his spruced-up appearance and she couldn't help but approve. His dark hair was clipped short, revealing the harsh scarring. It was a story that drew her curiosity.

His face was shaved, if a little roughly, bringing the focus back to his striking blue eyes. However, the man was still far too thin.

"Are you alright?"

His words snapped Lisa from her daze and she felt her cheeks flush. She had been staring. Of course then, she realized he must have meant the tears she didn't conceal soon enough.

"I'm fine," Lisa replied calmly, proud of the renewed strength in her tone. Jim nodded but his eyes weren't fooled. The door closed quietly behind as he entered.

"I could have told you that. I was asking if you were alright."

There he was again, that charming man she had first met. A little more open, perhaps, but still sure of his every movement, every word. And he had just used a line on her!

"I'm fine!" The words were repeated firmly, her eyes narrowing. Jim held up his hands in surrender. They lowered and his face became a few degrees more serious.

"So what do you think?" He glanced back at the hall, indicating the target of the question.

The expression Jim wore in that moment threw her off completely; the way his eyes became mild, almost an innocent feature. If only he could show her the other side of himself, with that cold, angry determination she had seen that day on the plane. Perhaps then it would make her feelings in this very moment so much clearer. Perhaps then, she could hate him. If only she could have brought herself to truly hate him the first time…

"As nice as it is to think about, we can't stay here forever," the sound of her voice was quiet in the candlelit room, but Lisa knew he could hear clearly. This world she had discovered, this reality…she couldn't allow herself to forget the facts.

"They know it too," she continued. "What do you propose? Because as much as I'd love to add to our little party, we can't have them come with us."

_Why?_ She had asked herself that question many times recently, but what it came down to was that she was afraid of losing them. How many people had she hoped to protect? And failed?

Lisa shook her head and turned back to examine the pictures on the wall, "We can't protect them and they'd only pull us down too. I've seen it happen enough to know that they need us much more than we need them."

Jim continued to watch the woman. Her slender form was outlined in a clean, form-fitting top that he assumed Hannah had provided. The deep brown shade continued the fad of darks that he had seen her in and he suddenly wished for a sample of that rose-hued image he had conjured.

Her hair was down for the first time that he could remember, but the waves were more familiar than he would have admitted. He was certain it would be pulled back up in the morning but it was no reason he couldn't enjoy the brief interlude of abandon. The color was amazing.

He wasn't sure why he risked speaking, but curiosity got the better of him, "Why do I have the feeling you weren't always like this? This 'only surviving, leave the others behind' farce you've put up."

Lisa turned to face him. It was a farce, she couldn't deny it. Her heart ached every time she thought about her past. What happened to that people pleaser, twenty-four seven? Everything.

"Perhaps because you knew me a lot better than you remember. Maybe even more than I thought you did." She suddenly felt very exhausted but it had finally struck a nerve.

"So…am I supposed to figure this all out on my own? Hope that I can remember our past so you can have an excuse to hack my head off? It might help if you can fill in a few more pieces or are you going to stop with the remarks?" Jim didn't mean to start yelling, still making every effort to keep his voice low, but he was tired. It was probably why he instantly felt remorse at his words.

She hadn't moved but he changed his tone, "If I could forget it all forever…if it would make things easier for you…I would, but I don't know what's going to happen. I…I don't know this man you expect me to be."

It was a nice fantasy, to forget it all and pretend they were just a man and a woman trying to survive this chaos. Logic would tell Lisa that whoever Jackson had worked under, the whole organization was most likely fucked. What would he have to go back to?

Once he remembered…once he remembered her, she was certain the civility would vanish and revenge in this sort of primal world would be an easy accomplishment.

"Every time I look at your face, see your eyes, you are Jackson Rippner," she began to explain, angry to her own ears while her voice remained low in an attempt to cover the fear that lurked beneath. "And this whole caring charade, you never gave a damn about other people or their feelings. What reason do you have to start now? Your world has always been to destroy everyone around you…"

"What do you want from me?" he interrupted and she cursed the look of innocence on his face in that moment.

Jim took a step closer, both of them intensely aware of the distance between each other, "I'm damned if I remember and damned if I don't. How can you sit there and tell me what I'm like if you didn't even know me more than a day?"

There was immediate hush as she watched him, her eyes searching for something, anything that would give her an answer. "I never told you that."

Jim's head tilted in confusion, "What?"

"I never told you how long I had known you," she repeated in a low voice. Lisa scanned his features but they revealed very little. "I never told you what happened."

"Of course you did, in the shop. You were telling me about that guy, um…from Homeland Security."

"I never told you how long." There was no doubt in her mind.

"Well…you know what, good then," Jim retorted, eyes closed in frustration as he brought a hand up to his brow. He began to knead the temple in frustration before letting out a sigh. "Maybe, I am finally beginning to remember things. I don't know. Don't know shit anymore anyway."

By the time he had looked back up Lisa's eyes had widened with fear and his heart dropped at being the object. He felt obliged to explain and he hated it, "I've had some moments, where I see things that I think are memories. Small things, none important. But you know…I've had this nagging, Lisa. This feeling that has come to the point of screaming for me to pay attention to it."

She waited.

"You were never supposed to be here, Lisa."

Not exactly what she had been expecting.

"I understand, you know. Whatever happened between us, before, you don't want to talk about it outside of these games."

Lisa started to open her mouth, words on the edge of her tongue, but he interrupted quickly.

"Don't…I know they are games. And that's fine, I'll sit here and be your punching bag if that's what you need. But can you at least give me this answer? This small piece of mind? You should be back in America, tucked all snug in your bed. So why, Lisa? Why did you get on that plane?"

Her lips were dry and her throat felt as though it would fail her if she tried to talk, so she lowered her eyes away from his. The words suddenly became a lot easier.

"I was trying to move on, Jim. Get away from things for a while. Everyone said it would be good for me." A snicker formed on her lips as she pulled her arms around herself, meeting his eyes once more. "I was trying to get away from you, but that didn't work out so well, huh?"

No smile graced his lips. "Was I really all that terrible?"

There was a painful silence in the room as they stood, each watching the other in speculation. It was Jim who finally broke the awkwardness.

"Look, we should get some rest, we're both exhausted. There's a bedroom down the hall Frank said you could use. The door's open." Jim moved, sitting down on the nearest couch. He started making himself comfortable despite the settings.

There was a flicker of confusion across Lisa's face, but she was determined not to stay around long enough for him to comment. She got up and moved easily to the doorway.

"I do understand, you know."

Lisa's hand paused on the handle at the sound of his voice. She told herself just to keep going, she needed the sleep, but he continued and she waited for it.

"I realize that whatever happened, was mostly likely my fault. I'm sorry. And back there…all of this, I would have been dead by now if it weren't for you."

Jackson Rippner would have never spoken to her like that. He would have most likely spewed about how she wasn't doing good enough, or offer some psychoanalysis for why she had become the way she was. 'Honestly, Leese, I'm disappointed in you.' She could almost hear the scoffing in this voice.

But then, there was this man in the very room with her. Something of Jackson had to still be there, shouldn't it? And if that was the case, how much?

"I want to thank you for that," Jim continued again. His voice was the epitome of sincerity. "You didn't have to do that. So thank you."

She remained silent from the doorway. The dryness in her throat returned with a force at the knowledge. This man wasn't Jackson. He would never…her eyes met his and she felt a familiar flush across her face.

"You're welcome."

The door closed softly behind her as she left.

_**++&&&&++**_


	7. Signs and Signals

_**++&&&&++**_

The morning started off slowly, if a little tense. Lisa may have woken up early, in fact Jim was certain of it, but by noon she still hadn't emerged.

The two men sat leisurely at an opened card table. Hannah had made an appearance, took some cereal, and retreated once again, but it didn't bother Jim any. He welcomed the quiet during his meal, and could hardly be concerned with such trivialities until he was finished.

It was nice to eat something. After the first bite or two of the canned corn, Jim was devouring his small portion. It was as though his stomach had finally remembered that it was hungry and the rest rejoiced in the reduced sugar.

"If I had known you were starving, I should have thought to offer you some food last night." Frank sat across the small table, a bowl of dried cereal before him.

Jim shook his head with a swallow, "Oh no, it's just…all I've had is candy."

He didn't delve into how long he had gone without even that. Frank nodded in reply. The man hadn't spoken much since the previous night and Jim wondered just how much he had heard.

"When you've finished, there's something I'd like to show you."

It wasn't long before the bowls were empty. Frank knocked on his daughter's door and she peeked out.

"I'm taking Jim up top. Get the door for us sweetheart?"

"No gear?" Jim nodded to the suit by the doorway.

"Nah, it's daylight and takes forever to put on. Sides, only really useful when the alarm goes off. Can hear the carts clear as day up here. That's the only way they'd get in."

With the door secured behind them they started towards the stairway. Jim noted the missing corpses from the previous night and Frank seemed to notice the concern.

"Don't worry, you'd find them quite dead at the bottom."

The older man attempted small talk as they made their way up, yet he continued to seem edgy despite his attempt to keep the conversation. The stairs seemed to continue on forever, moving further up and Jim found himself thankful for the refreshing break. He was almost starting to feel back to himself.

Frank kept an easy pace and they were almost to the last floor before he started to explain, "We lost water pressure three weeks ago. For a while I thought we'd be okay but the water from the other flats systems and tanks went out so quick you wouldn't believe."

They stepped out onto the open rooftop, eyes squinting in the brilliant sunlight. The sight was surreal: plastic containers covered the expanse in an arrangement of colors. The older man weaved easily around them, not bothering to check the contents.

"You drink it, it evaporates, turns stagnant…"

Jim looked down and found nothing. The first container was empty. Then the next…and the next.

"They're all empty," Frank confirmed. There was displeasure in his tone. "Hasn't rained in ten days. You can set up a plastic sheet to catch dew and condensation, but you have to trap it somehow. I saw it on T.V. once, but I can't make it work."

Jim hadn't even considered the weather the past few days. The focus had been on things of the moment. Now that they had a chance to sit it out for a while it would figure that something else would screw up.

"You'd never think it," Frank looked up at the sky in frustration. "We've been needing rain so badly." He scoffed at the irony, hands shoving into his pockets. "Not in fucking England."

Frank turned to clarify the point of the outing, "Jim, we're not going to be able to stay here."

_**++&&&&++**_

Lisa walked into the living room shortly after the two men had returned. Her eyes were bloodshot from what had probably been tears. No one asked.

"Hannah?" The girl looked up from her place on the couch, notepad in lap and pen in hand. "Can you show Jim and Lisa to the balcony for a moment? I'll be right there."

The girl shot him a glare but got up from the seat anyway as he disappeared into the hall. Lisa tossed a look of question to the lean man beside her, but he only offered a shrug. Remembering the chill he pulled her coat off the nearby couch and offered it with the slightest smile. She was hesitant, but didn't refuse.

The air was cold as they stepped out to overlook the city. In fact, it was much colder now that they stood in the shaded alcove against the building with the wind biting with malice at any exposed skin.

A single, plastic table with chairs took up space, but none of them bothered with the seats as they waited with growing tension. Jim took the chance to look out at the view. One couldn't deny it was magnificent, despite the solemn stillness of a city that should already be awake.

A moment later, Frank stepped out the door, map in hand.

"I thought this might help. I found it some time ago." He exposed a small, handheld radio that had been wrapped inside.

Frank put the map down as he turned his focus to the device. Jim threw a questioning glance to Lisa who only shrugged with equal confusion. However, the older man seemed determined in his task even though it only brought in a run of static.

"There haven't been any broadcasts for weeks," Lisa insisted, trying not to come across as condescending. In fact a part of her leapt with hope.

"Shh…." Frank continued to fiddle and Jim found himself listening intensely as voices started to emerge.

"…is here…."

Frank smiled proudly and turned the volume up.

"The answer to infection is here!" the voice over the radio repeated. "If you can hear this, there is hope. There are others." The static flickered. "There are other survivors. We are soldiers…we can protect you…"

"Oh, God." Lisa moved closer, her eyes wide with amazement at the object. It terrified her, to let herself hope, but it was a hard feeling to resist. The signal began to break. "Soldiers."

Frank turned with annoyance at her interruption, "Quiet, there's more."

A jumble of directions proceeded to be explained; something about the twenty-second blockade, northeast of Manchester.

"…You must find us. Salvation is here." Frank slammed the antennae unexpectedly and like that the signal had vanished. "It starts all over from there." The radio was placed in a crevice on the ledge.

Jim watched as the map was moved to the patio table, "Wait, so it's a recording?"

A nod of the head gave confirmation. "Yeah, it's a recording. Just telling us where to go."

Frank pointed to the location on the map, adjusting the placement of his head to get a better glance over the visible expanse of London's landscape. "And well, with the way things are…we might take two ta' three days to get up there."

An unintended breath of surprise was released as Lisa's gaze moved between the two men. "We?"

The glare that was directed at her suddenly made her wonder what was heard. There was a desperate resolve in the father's features as he let the map fall to his side, anything but forgotten in his clenched hand.

"Sound carries in this flat. All jerry-rigged I suppose." Lisa felt her cheeks flush at the implications. "Me and Hannah do need you more than you need us."

"Look, I didn't…." She tried to apologize.

The old Lisa never would have thought to leave without them. On the contrary she would have been the first to have them both come along. It wasn't the first time she wished things were back to the way they once were. But the fact remained…if they came, they would probably die.

_Or die in this hovel_, she acknowledged, but she would never say the words aloud.

"No," Frank's tone was constrained, pushing away any anger. "No, it's alright. It's the truth. I can't leave the house with just the two of us. We have a working car, but I couldn't risk it."

He looked to the map once more, hope running rapid. "But with other people…"

Jim listened with concern but there was no doubt their options were few. The family could travel with them or leave on their own. Staying had long left that list. He glanced at Lisa again and saw the reservation on her face. She didn't understand the extent…

"If this is a recording…for all we know the soldiers who made it are dead." Lisa folded her arms, trying to pull the large coat as close as it could. _When did you become so pessimistic, Leese?_ She had to bring up the possibilities.

"It's possible, yeah."

"And that stuff about the infection," her voice rose with tension. Jim knew it was only an attempt to conceal her fear. "I mean, there is no answer to infection. It's already done the damage! What more could it possibly do?"

Now Lisa was becoming irrational. It did none of them any good to argue between themselves. Her arms were shivering and her eyes angry.

"Maybe they have a cure," Jim suggested, earning the expected response as her attention snapped instantly back to him. He had never been so thankful for the presence of the large man who stood between them.

"Maybe they have nothing at all!" she answered irately.

Frank slapped the map against his palm, his own voice growing desperate, "The only way to find out is to reach them!"

"We could die trying, Frank!"

It had been said, and they all were aware of the very strong possibility. But no one wanted to dwell on it, and instead Frank turned away from the woman, looking out in the direction of where they had been directed.

He took a breath, deep, and tried to calm himself. Anger would solve nothing other than creating more complications and wasting time that they were slowly losing every second they stayed behind the safety of the very walls of his home.

The wind howled through the balcony openings and Frank felt his exposed fingers begin to numb.

"Or die here," Hannah confirmed, her voice timid in the quiet that had developed. It was the first thing she had said all morning and instantly drew the attention from all the adults present.

"And anyway," she continued. "It isn't true what dad said. You need us just as much as we need you."

Hannah watched their reactions and it was enough to give her the confidence to straighten her posture. To her, the answer seemed simple, common sense really, if they just looked at it.

"We need each other. Besides, we'd never be safe in the city." The wind pulled at her hair and she couldn't help but take a deep breath. "The soldiers could keep us safe. So we have to at least try to get there."

They went quiet again but it was Lisa who gave the nod that broke it. "How soon can we leave?"

"We could pack up…" Frank replied with resolution. "…have it all ready, then leave in the morning."

There was a tired sigh from the woman before Lisa offered an apologetic smile.

"Let's get started then." she reached out a hand to catch Frank before he went back inside. "I am…sorry. I really don't have an excuse."

He returned with his own friendly smile, every hint of anger gone. "It's already forgiven. It's been a long few weeks."

Lisa's smile fell as a lump formed in her throat. It still was no excuse, she couldn't help thinking as she followed everyone inside. There was no excuse to leave someone behind.

The doors were closed after them, blocking out the chill.

_**++&&&&++**_


	8. Into the Black

_**++&&&&++**_

The cab was a comfortable fit for the group. The tears in the upholstery were overlooked easily with the nervousness that filled every body that now sat at the edge of their seats. They had packed what supplies they could and moved out at daybreak like planned.

"Just so you know…I don't take checks or credit cards." Frank tossed a smile to the occupied rear seat in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Lisa caught herself smiling in response, respecting his effort in spite of of the circumstances. It was more than what she had been doing.

She looked back outside, scanning intensely for any signs of movement. A sudden lurch over a bump caused a gasp of surprise to escape and Jim glanced over to her in concern. Lisa did her best to avoid his gaze, refusing to ask about what they had run over. After all, they already knew the answer.

Bodies lined the side of the road. The stench of the dead that once was overpowering now had only become a familiar element. She thanked God for those who looked like they had never had a chance to become infected.

In either case there were no lucky ones.

Whether it was an unconscious attempt to escape her surroundings, or the lull of the wheels under the vehicle, Lisa relaxed. Her mind wandered back to the States, to her father and the house that would forever be an ongoing project (she smiled at the memory); when the worry of saving her fathers life, or that of a single family, was all she had to fear.

Amazing, how things work out.

Lisa wouldn't look at the man she knew was sitting barely a few feet from herself. How long had it been? Two months? The days seemed longer when one had the resolve to live.

It probably would have been easier, to just lie down and let them come, but she wanted to know. Heaven help her, but she wanted to find out if those friends…family…if that life still remained outside this God forsaken island.

Despite the outward pessimism that hope was all that was keeping her together.

Walls were closing in around them and it was enough to jerk Lisa back to the situation. The car slowed down to a stop before a foreboding tunnel that warranted everyone's full attention.

"What do you think?" The driver questioned, his eyes never leaving the blackness of the entrance.

"It _is_ the most direct route to the other side of the river," Lisa stated, willing herself not to shudder at her own suggestion. One part of her wanted to be past this obstacle as quickly as possible, the other wanting to shy away from the darkness where every monster hid.

"No…no no," Jim interrupted with a tone that was unfamiliar to the confident man Lisa once knew. Was that a hint of fear? "Then we should take the indirect route. The one that is in broad daylight and is not underground."

It was a sensible opinion, that Lisa found herself agreeing with instantly.

"Let's just get it done," Frank uttered, even as the cab lunged forward, ignoring the practically growling reaction from the opposing man in the back.

His foot held down the pedal, refusing to slow even as the vehicle swerved around a prone form on the ground. Lisa's stomach lurched at the motion, reminding her how top-heavy they were. Her hand gripped the handle bar on the door.

"Oh no…no," Jim muttered tensely, his eyes flashing with an angry fear.

It was too dark; there were too many places to screw up. Couldn't they see the blatant threat sitting right before their fucking eyes?

"See, this is a really shit idea," Jim voiced. "You know why…because it's really _obviously_ a shit idea. So we're just going to drive…"

His effort to tell the driver to head back went unheeded as they maneuvered around another bloody corpse and into a maze of abandoned wreckage.

"…into the mess really fast and try to fucking not crash! From this really obviously fucking shit idea!"

Jim turned to Lisa who had pulled Hannah close, for the girl's comfort or perhaps her own. Her face had gone white and her eyes wide as they watched the approaching car pile in front of them. It was one thing to risk his own life, but Frank was putting the two women at risk.

It shit idea because it was chaotic. Unplanned. There were other options and they were being ignored because of a desperate perception. It was that moment that Jim realized he wasn't as scared as he had first thought; instead, he was pissed as hell.

"Hold on!" Frank's voice boomed only seconds before hitting the pile of debris at full speed.

Lisa's scream broke the air but at least she had the sense to force it quiet as quickly as possible. Her terrified eyes turned to the man next to her where they met in the briefest second. There was nothing to do but wait as the cars creaked loudly under them.

There were no guarantees about what would greet them on the other side, if they even made it. Still, Frank's face was a vision of determination that Jim respected in spite of his disapproval.

"Dad!" Hannah cried out in fear, shaking visibly at another lurch that sent their hearts spiraling.

A few rocky jolts later and they began to see a light clearing at the far end and the criticism and cries of anger became that of excitement and praise. Perhaps they really could make it!

The car bounced as it began started the decent and practically leapt off the mound, back onto solid pavement.

_Shit_, was the first word in Jim's mind as he heard the familiar sound of a tire blowing from the impact. Once again, they slowed to a stop, not yet out of the disquieting tomb. But at least the could see the other end.

"Fuck!" It was a word that basically summed it up as Frank leaned out of the window to see the front tire. He got out and moved to open Jim's door.

"World's worst places to get a flat, huh?" Jim stated with clear annoyance. His posture was calm as his eyes bored into the older man who stood just outside the vehicle.

Lisa didn't fail to notice the characteristic attitude but remained quiet against her corner.

"Agreed, think we better do this one quick." Frank motioned to the trunk with a simple nod of the head that Hannah couldn't mistake. He moved out of the way and the three passengers crawled out to help. Lisa grabbed her flashlight and flicked it on along the way.

"No time to wait." Frank opened the back and started pulling the necessities. He was muttering orders but Jim's attention anxiously scanned the pile of cars, bodies, and who knew what else remained behind them.

"…Jack…"

The name caused him to turn, but quickly recognized the reference to the tire jack. Without another thought Jim turned back to the wreckage.

The young girl was working on the tire and they should be off again in a moment, but he felt increasingly aware of something wrong. A hint of sound caught his ear so quiet that it could have been the wind but there was no indication on his skin. It seemed to be approaching from where they had just come, and quickly.

"Hey," Jim caught Lisa's attention as she walked past in her attempt to help with the light. "Did you hear that?"

The concern in his eyes made her pause.

"Hear what?" Frank asked as he stood back up.

"Alright, I've done it." Hannah's voice was a muffle under the car but no one paid any notice. The sound grew more distinct but there was still no sign of the source. Jim didn't have to look around to sense everyone's nervousness.

"Dad?" The girl emerged from the incomplete project, hoping for a helping hand.

It was then that the rampage of rats came into sight, surprising everyone as they scampered from every black crevice and nook that could be seen. Just as quickly as they had emerged, they surrounded the group that stood in their path.

"Jesus Christ," Jim tried to jump out of the way, but there were too many of them and no place to go without crushing another. Hannah let out a panicked cry as the rodents crawled over her reclined body.

"Fucking rats…." Jim found himself muttering. "Come on, get her up."

The rats were not something that Lisa let upset her. Rats were easy to deal with. They were just animals, despite their filthy reputation. She remained calmly watching the inner tunnel as the two men pulled Hannah to her feet. Her throat felt suddenly dry as she saw much larger shadows come into sight.

The rats were running as they would from water, or fire, or any other danger.

"Their running from the infected," she whispered quietly, not knowing if she even spoke out loud. She must have, because when Lisa turned back Jim's face reflected her panic.

"Hurry!" she screamed rushing to the car, the rest followed. "Lift it!"

"Forget the jack," Frank agreed. "Just lift it, come on!"

Hannah dropped down once more, ignoring the rats that still shrieked under her body. The other three all rushed to help, holding the front up as much as able.

Lisa saw the girl drop the tire iron and couldn't help sympathize with the panic. It was clear Hannah was having a hard time focusing, and they didn't have time for her to question herself now.

"Hannah, don't look at them! The tire, fix the tire!"

Jim struggled as he tried to continue holding up the car. He was never known for his brawn.

He looked back up from the tire. The infected had come into sight and their screaming echoed down the walls. It was an unnatural, maddening sound that one would never believe the human body capable of and their movements were quick, if uncoordinated.

"Hurry! I can see them!" His voiced sounded strangely fearful, despite his intentions. Jim scolded himself for not having more restraint.

The damaged tire fell to the ground with a thud.

"Come on Hannah!" Lisa's encouraging voice had gained back a little more steadiness as she tried to continue hold up the car. He suspected she wasn't adding much to the support either.

"Almost…."

They could hear the thumping as the crazed beings leapt onto the blockade of cars, making their way closer. The air was a mix of fear and desperation and suddenly keeping quiet didn't seem to have any purpose. Yelling and commands filled the tunnel for the girl to hurry up and get the tire on. The pounding and cries of the infected grew by the second.

"3…..2…..1…." Hannah's voice suddenly seemed the calmest of all as she spun the tool to finish fastening the new tire on. "Drop it!"

They were quick to comply and the girl continued to give a final few twists to secure it. Hannah found herself being pulled away as Lisa rushed her back into the car.

"Get in the car!" It seemed to be a unanimous command and it was becoming harder to distinguish one voice from another as everyone scrambled inside. "Get in the fucking car!"

The doors slammed closed just moments before the creatures hit them. Clawing along the sides, blood red eyes peering in with lustful thirst.

It caught Jim by surprise that they didn't break the windows in the first onslaught, but any longer and they might take up the offer. It was the first time he had really looked into one of their eyes and it made him shutter with a righteous fear. This wasn't something he could fight or control, and for some reason that terrified him.

"Drive Frank, fucking _drive_!" It was amazing how quickly a person could be reduced to the simplest of phrases, but it was effective enough. Screams mellowed into cheers of relief as the car sped forward, leaving the enraged people behind in the shadows.

Smiles lit all their faces as the adrenaline continued to pump loudly in their veins. Laughter filled the cab with relief and Lisa gave in to the urge, leaning forward to hug the older driver over the seat and quickly kissed his cheek.

As Lisa sat back, she pulled Hannah into a welcomed embrace as the smiles spread. Hannah turned and took Jim by surprise with one as well and he found himself smiling back.

It felt strange to be held with such appreciation, but not unwelcome. He looked to Lisa and for once that sweet smile lit her face in a way he had wondered if he would ever have a chance to see again.

_Again_…

Jim pulled away from the girl's hold but the smiles lingered. The rush from coming out of there alive was near intoxicating. He let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, leaning back against the seat and letting his eyes close.

"Frank, let's not fucking do that again! Good job, but never again."

The driver merely smiled with pride.

_**++&&&&++**_

The journey continued relentlessly until they were certain the infected were no longer following. Lisa had never been familiar with London. Despite her extended stay, seeing the sites really wasn't high on her priority.

As they drove along the quiet streets, she kept an eye on the buildings. Perhaps if things had been different she could have walked down them, enjoying the bustle of a busy afternoon. Hell, even sitting in a mess of traffic sounded appealing.

Her eyes lingered on a storefront they approached. _Budgens_. She remembered stopping in one of those once before.

"Frank," she said quickly, trying to get his attention. A smile crossed her face. Perhaps it was a silly idea, but they might as well check. "Frank, stop the cab."

It seemed only moments later they were standing in the entrance, looking around at a vacated grocery store. The shelves lined with food and supplies. It seemed strange, through the cascades of destruction in so many places, that everything about the store looked relatively untouched. The backup lighting shined brilliantly during what was once the open hours. Everyone else seemed to agree, it was a good, and much needed idea.

"Let's shop," she commented with a growing smile, grabbing a cart.

Jim wondered when she had gone mad, but he wouldn't be the one to break it to her. Instead he watched Lisa and the girl move through the isles like it was just another day at the market. Perhaps with a little more _zip_ than usual.

Her hair had begun to escape its binding, letting amber curls fall along her face. No delicate make-up was used to flatter her features like he was familiar with.

_Familiar_? Not since he had met her. Perhaps it was only imagined. Cosmetics or not, one thought breezed through his mind at that moment. She was beautiful. He grabbed another cart and followed.

The sounds of a cart fight between father and daughter could be heard not far.

"Make sure you don't take anything that needs to be cooked." Lisa passed a smile to Jim.

She couldn't help but wonder at the odd expression on his face as he watched her. It was contemplative. She tried to ignore her worries. _Keep the mood light_, she told herself. She could do it…she used to all the time.

Jim moved down the isles, suddenly craving Oreos. Passing the wines he paused, a sly grin spreading. A White Zinfandel found its way to his hands first. A laugh almost escaped at the high price once marked for the common brand. It was an insult to good wines everywhere.

"Put that back…you can't just take any crap."

Jim hadn't expected the voice behind him but he wasn't surprised. The other man took the bottle out of Jim's hand and put it back on the shelf. Frank quickly scanned the bottles himself and pulled a different one.

"Single malt, 16 year, tart, full flavor…"

He had never been a scotch man. The sound of giggling caught his attention but Frank didn't seem to notice as he focused on the fascinating bottle in his hand. Jim wandered off without a glance behind to the muttering man.

The girls had separated, Lisa examining a medicine isle.

"Good choice."

She turned at the sound of his voice.

"If you have any suggestions, please feel free to load them up."

"I'm sure you've already pulled the necessities," Jim remarked, scanning the shelves. He didn't bother to check her cart. "Alcohol, Neosporin, bandages. Have you gotten any needles and thread?"

She turned away then, trying to focus on the shelves, "If someone gets an injury that needs to be sewn, the chances are we won't have time to fix it. They'll already be dead."

"Still, I'd feel a little safer knowing we had some….just in case." He paused before adding a quiet afterthought, "Perhaps some tweezers too."

It was time for a subject change. He leaned closer, reaching for a bottle of antacids.

"Frank decided to show me the beauty of scotch."

"Really?" She smiled again, tossing a curious glance. "You sound as though you didn't find yourself interested."

"My interests are distinctly elsewhere at the moment."

Lisa's smile faded as she picked up the implication. His eyes held hers in a way that reminded her too much of their short time at the TexMex. He seemed to pick up on her uneasiness and cleared his throat.

"I was actually intent to find some good Sauvignon, but it seems they were out." As if he could have gotten the brand in mind at a common grocers.

"A little rich blend for a currier, isn't it?"

There was no smart-ass remark, no degrading scold. Instead he smiled in that way that had drawn her from the first. It was that smile that had lied to her once before, why should now be any different? And yet it was.

"My parents had good taste. Actually, they just wanted to make sure I didn't look like an idiot on my trips to France." He concealed any grief well.

The temptation was there, to pretend he was just some guy. Lisa was reluctant to let her own smile fade. It would only end badly. "Come on, we should go."

They went their separate ways, continuing down the isles for necessities and trinkets. It felt like a holiday. With a bundle of filled carts, the four met up at the checkout with Frank trailing at the rear. Pulling out a gold visa, he tossed it on the counter as he passed.

"Just charge it," Frank said with a grin at the amusement in his own joke.

The carts left the glass pane doors on their way to the parking. It would take some time to repack.

_**++&&&&++**_


	9. The Monster

_**++&&&&++**_

Once outside the city the tension seemed to subside. Occasionally there would be that stray corpse or two neglected on the side of the road, however no live infected came into sight during those daylight hours.

It was always on their mind though, the concern that they would turn their head and see one rush out from the most unexpected places. But as it happened there was nothing to be seen for miles other than the fresh green leaves and fields along the side of the roads.

So they passed the time: chatting, having a few games of tick-tack-toe. Hangman suddenly became the best pastime known to existence. Lisa had nicked a pack of cards to the Hannah's excitement and they soon became involved in an intense game of war. The mood had lightened and they were all glad for it.

In the front, Frank's eyes kept a cautious watch on the petrol gage. The lower it fell, the quieter he became. Eventually a sign for an approaching station came into view and he uneasily swallowed at the thought of having to stop.

The cards and smiles were put away as the driver pulled the car into the station's entrance and put on the break, letting everyone examine the situation.

It looked deserted, but who could say for how long. A single, large truck sat between them and the building. There was a nervous silence in the back seat and the older man could see their skeptical glances.

"Either we do this now, or we're walking," Frank stated with certainty, and no one could stand to oppose.

It took hardly a minute to clear the illusion of safety, each taking weapon of choice tight in hand.

"Not you," Frank declared, motioning Hannah back inside the car. The girl let out an annoyed groan but obeyed regardless.

Lisa reached up to the packed roof and pulled the empty gasoline canister down, feeling a chill run through her. With the jacket tight around, she knew it wasn't from the cold. She jumped skittishly when a hand touched her shoulder.

"Don't do that," she hissed in relief when she had turned to find a familiar face. Lisa's grip on the machete eased.

Jim held up his hands in a gesture of peace, "Sorry about that, you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Nervousness kept it simple.

"Was just thinking we should scout around, keep an eye out until Frank's done. Just incase."

Lisa merely nodded in compliance before delivering her package.

As they started the patrol Lisa scuffed the pebbles under her feet. It was something she used to do as a child, back when her mother would scold her for the unladylike behavior so she would do it more. The memory didn't bring to mind a smile.

The sound of Jim's bat tapping those same stones reminded her of the situation and that he was drifting further away.

"Stay close, Jim," Lisa reminded. The sound of the name was still foreign on her lips.

She didn't want to lose him. Not that she cared, but to come so far…she didn't want to lose anyone else. It was a good excuse.

"What?" he responded, distracted in his curiosity over the station's tale.

"You heard…"

He knew Lisa was referring to the rule. _Which number was that again?_ Perhaps there were other reasons she didn't want him anywhere alone. They hadn't had many opportunities to test it.

His attention settled on the station's door. The building appeared to have once been a diner, not that there was anything uncommon about that but he assumed the cleanly broken glass in the door wasn't caused by an infected.

A glance to Frank verified the progress and Jim felt comfortable turning back to the building as curiosity won over.

"Where are you going?"

Lisa's voice broke him away from the destination and he turned to the concerned woman. He knew he was deliberately going against rule number one. Jim said nothing but instead pointed the edge of his bat towards the large sign on the diner wall. 'Last cheeseburgers for sixty miles.' As if that would pacify her.

"We've got enough to eat." She sounded confused, mind churning over his interest no doubt, but Jim wasn't about to take her fears into consideration. It was just a diner and something was drawing him in.

The man tossed a quick grin, too similar to the Jackson she once knew. "We haven't got any cheeseburgers," he replied smoothly, continuing to the doorway.

Jim turned away without waiting for further condemnation, placing a hand on the unlocked handle. "God knows what they fucking have," he whispered under his breath.

The stench came before the door pulled away, yet he went in despite the warning. A sleeve over his face helped dull the rancid odor. It was dark but the stray beams of sun gave some sense of the surroundings.

The room was spacious. He imagined it would have been cozy under normal circumstances. Rosy curtains hung around the windows.

The corpses didn't take long to find. One man slumped in a chair, his hands bound and a bullet to the head. Clearly a hostage situation. A pair of women sat in a nearby booth, both shot as well; one appearing to have a blow to the head by the bruise that had formed. A ketchup bottle was still open from use and food on the plates before them.

"Oh, Jeez."

Jim forced his eyes from closing at the sight of a mother, prone on the floor. She still held her baby after the fall, a dried spread of blood on the wooden floor beneath them. Its small mouth was still open as if crying from beyond. It was the kids that always got to him…

He could picture the event with surprising ease. It had been quick, taking out the few customers at the tables and booths, single shots for each. Deliberate. The man behind the counter came a while after, but before the captive most likely. He had time to piss in his pants.

The killer was a skilled shot, no more than a single per target. There might have been more than one wielding.

A trail of blood streaked across the floor to the single, occupied chair in the center; a line of debris, mixed of food and blood. They had wanted something from that man. Jim couldn't help but wonder if they had gotten it. He felt his jaw tense in anger as his eyes continued surveying the scene.

"Hello?" Jim risked the soft question not really expecting much of an answer, but if there was even a chance someone lived…

The quiet was reeking but his eyes narrowed at the almost stealthy approach from behind.

There was a gasping intake of air from the attacker just as Jim turned and he swung the weapon with a vicious resolve. His eyes glared as the body was thrown to the ground roughly. Jim pinned the creature with ease under his foot.

It was a child, a boy no older than ten yet his eyes were red with fury, spitting hiss-like noises of hate.

He was fascinated and disgusted at the image…and then they came. As Jim watched the child squirm on the ground memories flooded in a painful rush starting with the package he was to deliver all those years ago.

He never did learn what was inside. It wasn't the package itself that was important, but the chain it had created: his first job for the inconspicuous Organization, however unintentional.

It was that day he had walked in on the murder, a child, and the last of three in the family that was marked. It had been intended for him to be there all along.

They kept him under surveillance for years due to his scoring while in school, even from an early age. He fit the profile, mother divorced while he was age three. It was easy to fit a member into the household. Even when he found out, Jim still couldn't think of the man as anything but 'dad.' It was all he had known.

Jack the Ripper, they called him as a bit of a joke after his first assignment. It had been messy because he had missed the shot, three times to be exact. So he went for the knife, taking out the woman in a manner that could only be described later as 'messy.'

He vowed to be better after that, make it quicker…and he did. Jim cringed, finally understanding now.

Everything in his past…the events on that red eye flight…and after. All were painfully fresh in his mind despite his years of pushing the details away.

The last image that came to mind held a single figure; the woman standing over him as he lay in what should have been death.

A second later, the bat swung with brute force, silencing the child forever.

Blood splattered on the nearby wood-planked door. Jim looked up from the corpse, filling with anger at the now so recent memory. His teeth clenched and his grip on the bat tightened as he made his way out of the makeshift grave.

His steps were confident, easily wiping the blood from the weapon in hand. The sun was a sharp contrast to what he had just escaped. He knew she would be waiting just around the corner and knew he couldn't look at her. Not yet.

How many aliases had James Donovan had? Guy Reeds, Devon Copeland, Isaac Nieves…The Organization had officially taken Jack Donovan as his primary, but he hadn't been lying when he told Lisa how he despised the 'Ripper' jokes.

And then there was Jackson. Oh yes, she had met Jackson…one of his favorites. His own personal joke of sorts.

If it was possible, his frown fell further. She had seen what he was known for, even when he let it get messy. She had made him feel like he was back at that first assignment and it was unacceptable.

He was better than that now, and she expected it of him. How could he let her down?

Jackson eased the dry skin of his lips as he continued back towards the truck. He saw her there, just out of the corner of his eye, but he refused to turn for anything other than facing away. It was deliberate…and she knew it.

"Find anything?" The voice was smooth, if a little harsh and he could practically feel Lisa's eyes on the back of his head. He continued walking.

"Did you find anything, Jim?" Her tone held more concern the second time and he suddenly wondered if she worried about him.

"No." He kept the answer was short. "Let's just get out of here."

Frank finished closing up the canister with the familiar clink of plastic against plastic.

"We're done here," he said, standing back up with a look to the cabbie on the far end of the property. "Alright, Hannah!"

The cab hummed as it came to life. A wide smile of pure delight lit up the teenager's face as she put it into gear and started towards the group. It was rare that she had a chance to drive it herself. If only she could take it a little faster.

"Steady…" Frank instructed to the wind as she came closer.

It soon became apparent that she wasn't intending to slow down. With an swift motion Jackson took Lisa by the arm, pulling her well out of the way. It wasn't rough, but she became very aware of the touch as he let the action linger.

"Easy….Break!" Frank's voice turned to panic. "Break….break!"

The vehicle practically spit out the rocks as it wheeled to the side, breaks squealing as it skid to a hasty stop. There was a final bounce, the girl's face alight with smug pride. Her father only glared before pulling the door open.

"Out."

Hannah's smile dropped as she reluctantly gave up her front seat. The fuel was quickly transferred and they once again everyone piled inside.

Lisa took the chance to offer a smile of gratitude to the man holding her before he released, stepping aside enough to let her enter the cab. He only nodded politely, his eyes dark as he avoided her gaze. It was time to move out.

Jackson closed the door securely as he took his seat with one last look out to the diner.

_**++&&&&++**_


	10. On the Moors

_**++&&&&++**_

"Jim?"

Her voice was quiet at his side and he dared to turn at the sound. The hazel eyes were worried, but her posture remained lax in her seat.

"Are you sure nothing happened back there?"

They had pulled back on the motorway, the speed picked up rapidly and they all had given in to the small pleasure found in an open window. The wind hissed in a comforting harmony that had lulled the teen to sleep. The others found no such relief.

If she knew he remembered…no, he was certain the concern would have never been wasted on him.

"I'm fine," he replied with a forced smile. If it had been anyone else, they probably would have bought it, but Lisa saw the discretion in his words.

"I have no doubt of that, but that wasn't the question, Jim." There was no relenting in her features.

A grin formed on his lips over the purposeful response. He looked her over, scanning slowly and she felt herself shiver under the scrutiny. It should have made her uncomfortable.

Jackson leaned closer to make sure the driver was out of range as his lips whispered softly for her ears alone. Secrets in public. One would almost think they were intimate.

In all…he knew it was a _Jackson_ move, but what else was he other than the man she had met that day in the airport. She was letting her guard down, even if only a little, but soon she would realize there could never be any difference between the two men she had met.

"If you would like to know," the touch of his breath lingered on the nape of her neck, the words caressing. "I will tell you, but later."

The woman's body stiffened at the tone. It was too familiar. It was one of those moments where the man and the memory collided in a painful reminder. Part of her condemned the prejudice.

"Okay," Lisa resigned, obliging herself to look at the man as Jim, not Rippner, and he saw the forcefulness.

Jackson didn't pull back then like he had been planning. Instead his gaze traveled down to her lips, the soft pale hue slightly moist, relaxed. That was not the response he had expected. He expected questions, resistance; instead he found nothing but compliance. There was a time he would have savored her obedience.

Jackson sat back into his seat once again with that piece of information the front of his thoughts.

"Don't suppose either of you two mind if we stop for a bite?" They both looked up in surprise at the sudden disruption from the driver. "There's some ruins not far from here, a good ways from the main road. Should be quiet though, away from people or otherwise. Only way I know about it myself is my wife was always into that sort of thing. Came up here a time or two."

"Sounds perfect," Lisa commented with a smile. There would be no objections.

Before long the car veered off the main road, following a vacant two-lane detour. A few turns and dirt roads later the cab came to a stop at their destination. Frank had been right when he said it was away from people.

The trees gave way to open fields lined with dew-kissed green. Fallen blocks of stone lay scattered in the open with only a few stray trees providing cover.

"It's beautiful, dad." The newly wakened girl's voice held a sense of awe, her eyes scanning the area eagerly. They had been confined indoors for far too long. Everyone had.

Frank smiled contently, squinting into the sunlight as he stepped out of the cab. "I think it's the perfect time for dinner, eh?"

No one wasted time following his lead. The sun continued to shine in a brilliance of perfection and a sheet had been spread in traditional picnic fashion. They were missing a basket, but no one seemed to mind.

The canister of white grape juice had been opened; warm, but a sweet, soothing change to the carbonated beverages so often on the menu. A menagerie of canned meats, fruits, and vegetables lay in no set pattern as the group mingled through the much-anticipated treasure. The can opener had never been so loved.

Lisa stifled a giggle at the sight of Hannah's stuffed mouth, while at the same time, spooning in a small cluster of green olives. Jackson smiled at the pair, taking a bite of the peanut butter laden bread in his hand. For just that moment, he could almost forget.

They talked about nothing in particular and no one seemed to mind. Pleasantries, the food, the weather. It was nothing important and yet it was everything they had without delving into the painful reminders of recent days.

Jackson's eyes deviated to the older man. Frank had taken a pair of his cherished fruit and fled to enjoy the product privately. They didn't know how he found the entire case of ripened golden apples, but there were no complaints. In fact everything seemed carefree as they sat in the frozen bit of borrowed time.

_Leese_. The name was thought on fondly as Jackson watched the woman's lighthearted features.

It was refreshing, to be out without the worry of surveillance, of consequences, expectations. He was cautious of using the pet name aloud and spoiling the moment, yet any time he caught a glimpse of those eyes he couldn't help but remember.

His jaw tensed and he looked away.

"Look over here." Frank interrupted.

It was a casual command and they took their time getting up. When they saw the scene played out before them the world couldn't have been more natural. Everything, the blood, the death, it all seemed too distant to every take hold again. They were foolish thoughts.

Four wild ponies were claiming the field as their own, completely content in their own company. A pair of adults and two foals, ears perked in playful canter. The sound of their hooves could just be heard in the quiet, beating against the damp ground and kicking up the fresh soil.

"Looks like a family," Hannah commented with a smile. One look at the girl and anyone could tell she was lost in her own dreams. The horses themselves paid no mind as they traveled at an easy pace across the brilliantly green field.

"Do you think they're infected?" Lisa couldn't help but ask, bringing them all back to a sense of their situation. If she could have lost herself as easily as the girl, it would have been a welcomed blessing.

"No," the father said with certainty that caused Jackson to wonder just how much of the speed behind his reply was simple optimism for their mission. "They're just fine."

There was nothing to do but leave the herd to enjoy their freedom. Jackson's attention turned immediately back to the woman at his side. It was an opportunity he couldn't let pass.

"Come on, let's walk," he whispered with a tempting smile before turning away from the picnic site.

Lisa didn't resist or even question, instead moving at a relaxed pace beside him. She hadn't even given it a second thought. If only she had been that compliant from the start. _But really, hadn't she_? _Until the minor incident of her father's life being on the line_…

He had to admit the scenery was beautiful, creating the perfect impression of calm and security. So unlike everything he had been permitted before the coma and in the days that followed. In his line of work the only security offered was designated by his success in the missions, and the last one had been a complete failure.

It had been over two years since he had last visited his mother and he returned far too late.

Lisa couldn't have known, but it was still very selfish of her. Put a little pressure on someone, and they never consider the risk to people on the other side of the fence.

Once they were some distance away from prying ears he stopped the lead, pausing appropriately at a broken gate. It was a nice enough place, quiet, solitude.

Lisa leaned against it thoughtfully and Jackson imagined a scene from any number of black and white films with a wistful main character. His distaste for Catherine Earnshaw grew.

"I'm sorry," Lisa started immediately as if some signal and been given to allow her the podium.

"There's nothing to apologize about," Jackson replied calmly, intrigued by the destination of the apology.

"Yeah, there really is," Lisa insisted.

She sighed with an attempt at composure, refusing to turn his way. Lisa did her best to avoid his gaze, instead looking out to the field where the sunlight that reminded her achingly of home.

"I never wanted to be like this," she tried to explain. Her fingers felt harder than they should have, as they pressing into her palms in nervousness. "And it hasn't been right, that I've been taking it out on you. If I don't say something about it now, it's just going to keep bothering me."

Jackson let the corner of his lips turn up just enough to be mistaken for a smile, "From what you've told me you have reason. And look at us, walking along on a Sunday afternoon, alone."

Incredibly alone. The girl and her father were turned away from the couple and it would be easy enough to get out of sight entirely. All it would take was one move…

So here she stood, ignorant once again in her moment of contentment. In a strange way he was reluctant to pull her away from those thoughts.

But he did, "And I'm still not dead yet so I think there's some improvement there."

Lisa looked at him then, her eyes quiet in a way he hadn't seen for some time. It was tempting not to reach out and touch the skin of her cheek. Was it as smooth as he remembered?

"Is it Sunday?" She questioned and he recollected himself.

"I don't know, actually," Jackson replied, leaning his back against the wood. He smiled as he looked away. _What are you doing, Jimmy boy_? "Feels like a Sunday, doesn't it?"

_Nothing wrong with a little conversation_.

"Yeah," Lisa agreed with little earnest. "I just…I want more, you know? More than just getting by the day. I always did," she explained with a hint of embarrassment.

_More than sleepless nights and days in mediocrity_? He was certainly curious.

"But I guess I kinda suck at it."

Was it that she was embarrassed with admitting it to herself, or to him?

"I don't know, I'd say you aren't off to a bad start." Jackson's remark drew an instant glare and he smirked. "Well…taking away the 'end of the world' element."

"So says the guy with memory loss," she teased.

Jackson resisted the laugh, but the smile was genuine. This was the Lisa Reisert he knew.

"Losing the memory doesn't mean a loss of wits," he feigned insult with a furrowing of the brow. "…and I'd like to think I'm still doing well in that respect."

Thinking on it, she couldn't help but agree. Memory or not, the man had common sense at least. Or perhaps it was just dumb luck. In any case there were times, he would get that look in his eye like maybe, perhaps, there was something even more.

Lisa tried not to dwell on those thoughts for long. He was on their side for now, that was all that was important. He was charming, even. If things weren't…if he hadn't…well, she wondered. And she would leave it at that.

"Yeah, you haven't done too bad," she agreed with that quiet smile that had been adapted over the recent hours. However, she let it fall and her eyes bled into his, questioning, pleading for a lie. His lips tightened under the scrutiny.

"Do you really think it's the end of the world?" Lisa asked.

Jackson looked away. What could he say? No, because the end of the world has come and gone and we're already basking in hell's fury? So many people dead, painfully, unmercifully. He had killed enough himself, and arranged even more than that, but never without a purpose.

This: everything around them, was chaos, and he hated it.

He saw the girl again a distance from where they now stood, all smiles as she made a joke and her father laughed. It wasn't a restricted laugh but whole-hearted, loving. Despite everything that man kept hope for his little girl, giving her the world to the best of his ability.

Bad things always happened, and somehow Jackson always found himself envious of the good ones who could make lemonade. He didn't like the drink much himself, but was it really so impossible to learn how to make the most of life?

"If you had asked me a few days ago, the thought had crossed my mind," Jackson answered truthfully, never taking his eyes from the remains of the family. "But no. Take a look at those two."

Lisa turned and rested her back against the fence in a similar manner, following his gaze as he continued. "As long as there are people like them, good people, in the world, it will be just fine."

It was easier to tell a lie when you believed it yourself.

If she was satisfied one way or another, he couldn't tell. The next question was one he hoped she had forgotten, but was expecting. "What went on back there, earlier?"

His eyes fell to the ground. If he looked at her, he was certain she would see. He could feel it even now, the way she exposed him in spite of his efforts. "At the station?" He kept the tone neutral, evading.

"You've seemed, I don't know, tense since then."

Jackson did look at her then, with a disbelieving raised eyebrow complete with a smile. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we're trying to avoid being attacked by people who have gone stark-raving mad."

"You know what I mean." Her voice was quiet, but at least she didn't carp him with a roll of the eyes.

Jackson didn't know if it was her tone that urged him to make the rash decision to tell her the truth.

"It was something I was glad you didn't have to see. It was a massacre of sorts," he began to explain with visions of dried blood and the haunting smell of death. He could tolerate it, but Jackson never claimed to take any sort of pleasure in those situations. "But not by the infected. Just another example of what a normal man is capable of."

"I still wonder," the woman began, chin raised in a manner he knew oh too well. She was trying to convince herself she was strong and in control. Even now. Especially now. "…what you are capable of. I still can't help but worry, what's going to happen when you remember."

_If only you knew, Leese_.

"Why's that?" Jackson questioned innocently.

She had already explained the basics, and none of it was pleasant. Did he have to persist? Halfheartedly she answered, "We didn't part on the best terms."

"Oh, right," he smiled in mock remembrance, pushing away from the fence to stand. The man swallowed his bitterness with ease as he motioned to the scar. "The pen."

"And my dad shot you," Lisa added with reluctance, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He found it oddly endearing.

"Oh. Is that all?" he remarked with a sarcastic mirth in his tone, his lips turned up with a curious smile. The woman was talking about it, willingly, and he was all ears.

She smiled back, about to respond when Frank's bellowing voice interrupted the moment. He was apparently comfortable enough to not worry about being heard.

"It's getting late." The pair looked over to see the man had begun pulling supplies from the cab's roof. "We should camp here tonight."

Jackson motioned that he had heard and plastered on a gritted smile.

"Great, a campout," he muttered quietly. Jackson's hands went into his pockets, annoyed at the disturbance, even more at the news. It made sense, he couldn't deny, but he had never enjoyed the outdoors much and by their positioning, it was overall too exposed.

By Lisa's tension, she felt similar. Regardless, she came to the older man's defense, "Look around us, Jim. Better out in the middle of nowhere than in the middle of the city after dark."

"Note taken," he agreed. "But I still don't like it."

He could hear Lisa sigh quietly as she began to walk away in an effort to help. Somehow, it didn't seem right to leave things at that point. He wanted to explain it to her, needed to explain it to her, and he didn't stop to ask himself why.

So instead, he just took Lisa by the arm, pausing her steps for just long enough to listen. She didn't pull away at his touch, instead curiously scanning his face with those green eyes.

"Lisa," he started. But what could be said without giving everything away? He was an honorable man, if little else, but she would never listen to such a plea. She was as blind as everyone before her. She was no different. So why was he bothering?

"I would never be capable of that. Never what I saw in there."

He was close, strangely close in a way that made her heart flutter defiantly. It was wrong how comfortable the nearness of him made her feel. It always had, for all the danger he once posed.

_Once?_

She was a fool if she thought the day wouldn't eventually come again. And yet, for this moment, she realized she just didn't care.

"Okay." There was that simple response again, trusting. It confused him and she could see it in his eyes.

He released her arm and she smiled, turning away again. They had work to do before dark and she had the feeling that getting to sleep would take some effort in itself.

_**++&&&&++**_


	11. Dreaming of You

_**++&&&&++**_

The fire crackled in the quiet of the camp, settled deep in the fallen structures. Stars were nearly visible through the frame of branches and cloud-cover. The famine of rain continued and all were glad for it, but the air had a chill that wasn't very forgiving.

Frank was anything but asleep from his place far from the group, watching outside a large crevice in the stone. But Jackson was less than interested in using the time insomnia granted by observing the man.

Instead, Jackson remained on his back, long giving up attempts at sleep. An arm was propped comfortably behind his neck while his head turned to the woman lying close to his side.

Lisa was still and oddly peaceful in the setting as the light flickered shadows across her skin, creating warm, golden tones. Her hair was down, spread across the blanket.

So many things he should have done, could still do even now. It had only been a simple assignment. Was it really only a few months ago? It felt a lot longer.

Take away all of that, the Organization, the red eye, what could they have been? Would she have become the person he watched now?

No. But she was wrong. She didn't have to thank him for surviving as she did. Lisa Reisert was a smart woman, strong. She would have figured this world out on her own.

Jackson couldn't sleep, but he didn't mind. The only thing that he wanted to do was touch the amber strands; feel the warmth of her body under his hands. Was it too late to change things?

She had seen him at his worst and he could only imagine her opinion if she saw his best. He was a killer, by any other name. Yet maybe, in this kind of world, she could come to accept that. His next thought was wondering when he had lost his senses.

"I can't sleep," Hannah's voice cut through the night air, echoing the man's thoughts as she sat up in frustration.

"Me either," he whispered, turning away from Lisa's face to acknowledge the girl. It was a distraction at least. That was the problem when you lost direction; there was too much time to think.

Hannah's mouth was turned down in irritated anxiety, eyes scanning the surroundings. She was tense and every good reason to be. It was probably her first night out since the whole mess began.

"Doesn't feel safe, does it," Jackson inquired, hoping that by getting her to talk would someone set her mind at ease. His voice was quiet, but clear enough in the darkness, "Outside like this."

She never had a chance to respond before her father added his harsh opinion. "I think we're safe enough."

Jackson almost snickered. '_Safe enough' doesn't mean shit_. He was sure Frank could see the concerns clearly enough, or else he would have tried to sleep long before.

"Lisa didn't seem to have any trouble," Hannah remarked as-a-matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I noticed that," Jackson agreed with curiosity as he turned back to the sleeping woman.

She hadn't moved, breathing easily. Too easily in his opinion. After all of her talk these past few days? He wanted to curse for ignoring the detail before that moment.

"Leese," he whispered, taking her gently by the shoulder. She mumbled under his touch, but was reluctant to wake. He raised the tone, "Lisa!"

"Yeah! What is it?" She practically leapt from the ground, hand tight around the machete as she groggily looked around the camp. Her eyes paused at Jackson's face. Taking in his otherwise calm appearance, her shoulder relaxed beneath his hand and he pulled it away.

"How did you get to sleep?" Jackson questioned, earning a groan of complaint as Lisa collapsed back on the make-shift pillow, weapon loosed from her grip. He had an idea, a very clear one actually.

His suspicions were confirmed as she lifted herself off the backpack once again, opening the contents to reveal a variety of drugs. Only some of which he recognized from their recent shopping exhibition. The rest he doubted would be handed out over the counter like candy.

"Bloody hell, you must have needed a hell of a prescription for that lot." The disapproval in Frank's tone was unmistakable but it didn't seem to faze her.

"Don't need a prescription when the drug store doors are wide open." The hesitation in her voice suggested a story, but none dared to ask. "I…Mark and I found one a while back. Stocked up on the necessities."

Frustrated and tired, she pulled a whole container and pushed it into Jackson's waiting hand. He inspected the label with surprise and a consoling smile.

"Valium, nice choice."

Lisa barely offered a moan in agreement, instead sleepily closing the bag and settling back down. Within seconds her eyes were closed again.

"Not only will we be able to get some sleep, but if we get attacked in the middle of the night we won't even care," he muttered more to himself than to the observers.

The very thought of it made him uneasy, but their effects would be heaven for the girl. She needed the sleep and if only a drug could accomplish it, just as well.

"Two each?" Jackson offered directly to the dad.

Frank shook his head, looking back out of their sanctuary. "None for me, thanks."

Hannah on the other hand, had the glow of anticipation. Part of it was likely the lure of the forbidden. Still, she remembered her place and asked first. "Can I, dad?"

The request turned him back to her with a glare and Jackson understood why she was reluctant to simply take what she wanted. He wouldn't have wished to be on the other end of that look either.

"I don't think so, sweetheart."

The answer obtained a whimpered pout. Not the response she had been hoping for. "Please?"

"No."

"I can't sleep." Her voice was tiny in a way that reminded both men of her age. It was the perfect time to strike.

"Come on, Frank," Jackson's remark was sly. He wondered if the shadows hid his grin. The man would cave. How could he say no, after everything? He wanted his little girl to have the world and what she needed was sleep. They both knew it. "Let her live a little."

There was a sigh and Jackson knew they had won.

"Give her half of one," the man conceded.

"Alright!" Jackson exclaimed with a wink to the teenager. He began shuffling out the drug, and handed her a full dose. It was dark and Frank couldn't see. Hannah wasn't about to argue. "We're on."

He took two in his hand and the girl smiled, taking her own. Jackson moved his hand to his mouth, cupping the pills between his fingers in just the right manner to keep them from his lips. When he pulled his fingers away with a swallow, Hannah smiled.

"Night night," came her whisper as she laid down contentedly. It would only be a matter of minutes before the drug would take full effect.

Jackson tossed the remainder to the side and easily buried the pills into the nearby soil without any notice. It would do none of them any good if he were drugged too, even if just for a night. Sleep was something easily sacrificed.

He laid back against the sheet, his eyes glinting mischievously at the other man. "You're a big softie, Frank."

Frank muttered in reply, but said nothing more.

Jackson grew quiet again, wondering if he should offer to take watch, but they both knew the father wasn't about to get any sleep even if replaced. So instead, he decided to bide his time with earlier interests, turning his sight to Lisa.

She had turned, stomach flat against the ground and face towards him. Her lips were parted just slightly, hair falling across at odd angles. Jackson smiled despite himself, but only for a moment.

She was beautiful. He had never thought otherwise. That last assignment had been a test, and he had failed horribly. He was still failing, but somehow he just couldn't give a damn.

Somewhere in his thoughts, Jackson let himself fall asleep.

_**++&&&&++**_

The rain was pelting angrily against his skin when Jackson opened his eyes. His clothing was drenched as it clung to his skin in a manner that suffocated. Regardless, he pushed away the panic with easy effort but he couldn't help but notice the obvious. He was alone.

The other sleeping forms were nowhere to be seen and the supplies were all gone from sight without even their crumbs to show presence. They had left without him?

Lightning struck nearby, too close for comfort as the sparks lit up the air above the man's head. The sound was deafening and he could feel the tremor under his feet.

"Shit!" he cried leaping to his feet and running to cover, any cover, but there was none to be found in the open fields. Instantly, his mind went into action and he fled into the trees, running even as his legs ached and his breathing became ragged.

"Hello?" Jackson yelled out desperately.

_Keep your damn head!_ But his body refused to listen as it pushed deeper into the line of trees. The branches ripped and clawed in protest until his clothing tore into shreds that hung on his lean frame as though he were nothing more than a scarecrow forgotten in a field. He felt vulnerable.

What kind of response did he expect? They were long gone. In the end someone always had to leave, but he had always been determined it would be him.

Jackson stopped abruptly as the trees gave way to a yard that was achingly familiar. He knew there was no sense to it. They were in London, not Miami. Still, he stepped forward, approaching the wreckage that had been driven into the foyer of Joe Reisert's home.

Everything had been as he remembered it. The crunch of glass clinked under his boots as he stepped into the forced entry. It was quiet, nothing else disturbed from their recognizable places in that day he recalled with such clarity. All, that is, except the body from the now clean floor.

"Lisa?" His voice echoed through the empty rooms that seemed to grow even more expansive with each pace. It was eerie, even to him.

There was a clatter upstairs and Jackson immediately took up his bat that was expectantly resting against a near-by wall. He never questioned its presence.

"Leese?" He approached the stairs with caution, part of him nervous that the woman would attack once again, forcing him to respond; part of him wishing just to see her face.

He was in the bathroom now, bat gripped firmly and raised. A movement caught his eye and he turned to see his likeness in a mirror. But the blue eyes seemed to melt into a red, vicious reflection and his face became an angry snarl that lunged out of frame.

Jackson fell into the curtain behind him; consumed, he could do nothing but cry out into the darkness.

His eyes opened only once as he looked up into the disapproving gaze of those hazel eyes. Lisa stood over him as she did that day, but this time her expression was far less forgiving.

"You were infected long ago," she whispered in a distant voice, angry.

He wanted to explain, to ask for forgiveness, but she would have none of it. Lisa raised her arm and he saw the pistol in her hand. Her words were final, "…in a heartbeat."

A single shot drummed in the air.

_**++&&&&++**_


	12. Quoth the Raven

_**++&&&&++**_

Panic crushed his chest as Jackson woke, sunlight burning into his eyes, and he could feel the beads of sweat line his skin. He sat up quickly with a breath and the blood drained from his face. He looked around wildly, noting the vacant ground and long expired fire.

"You alright?"

The sound of Hannah's concern brought back a sense of composure. Jackson turned immediately to face the girl as she stood with a fastened pack in her arms. She watched him uneasily and he offered a reassuring smile in response.

Nightmares were something he was used to, but it never made them easier to deal with. He wasn't one to talk in his sleep and he hoped this incident would have proved no different. By the girl's expression, turning away with indifference, he assumed she hadn't heard anything. Or at least had the discretion to forget.

Jackson pulled his own belongings together, bundling the grimy sheet with as much delicacy as could be expected, and followed the teen. It seemed everyone had been up for some time, the affects of the drug wearing off. He was losing his touch. He never would have slept in so late, but then everything had felt off since the coma.

It led to memories of the events that brought him here. It led to thoughts of her.

He remembered the glow against her skin just the night before.

They were almost there: to what would be their sanctuary. And then what? There were too many questions these days and his mind couldn't shuffle through them fast enough. What he wanted? Peace. Purpose. These days he was feeling overwhelmingly lost and it sat in his gut with irritation.

Jackson approached the cab with a subdued smile to the others. An oatmeal bar was passed his way as he tossed his things among the rest.

Lisa lingered at the rear, machete out as she leveled the handle in her palm. She was playing with it, testing. Her eyes were distant as she looked out and down the path they had traveled and would once again be taking.

"We better get a move on," Frank suggested with a look to the sky. He lowered his voice, pointedly directing his next thoughts to Jackson alone. "Plenty of time, but I'd rather have as much day on our side as possible. No telling what we'll find there."

"Couldn't agree more," Jackson agreed looking back to the woman before opening the door and taking his place on the black leather.

_**++&&&&++**_

"Forty-second blockade," Frank commented warily as they approached the barrier.

It was little more than crude walls extended around the pass and enforced with forgotten vehicles that clustered around the shelter. The ash from the city was heavy as it fogged the windshield.

The sight had been disheartening even a mile down the road, when they had first seen the burning frame of Manchester. It was a sorry sight that earned a still hush from everyone inside the cab. There was nothing that could be said without bringing up the fears they all had tried to shuffle away.

It looked like the site of a war, not a refuge.

"This is it," the driver continued with skepticism in his own proclamation.

Jackson leaned forward, scanning with an uneasy tension, his mouth turned downward into a tightened frown. The darkened roadway seemed far too abandoned for his liking. Large, brightly colored signs had been posted for approaching travelers but there seemed to be little else in terms of greetings.

It smelled like a trap but they had little choice but to continue through.

Their own car crept along with the creaks and rumbling 'putters' that had gone unnoticed in the rush of the speedy wind on the highway. Frank carefully wound the vehicle around the maze of which many appeared distinctly military.

Jackson let his eyes rake up the walls that framed much of the path but found no movement. However, that was no reason to assume nothing was there. A glance back to the auburn-haired woman showed her equal interest in the strange backdrop.

"Maybe they only keep away from the entrance," Frank offered before pulling the cab to a stop.

Two large semi's blocked further travel, but still no sign of the soldiers they had hoped for.

Frank pulled out the key, bringing the cab into silence before stepping outside. The door slammed closed and Jackson felt a distinct connection to the last time he told Frank about his bad idea. However, if he was taking off they sure as hell were not leaving him to explore alone.

Jackson opened his own door to follow and tossed a look with nod at the other two who scrambled out after him.

He was on edge, the bat's handle tight in his fist and shoulders tense with each step along the road. His lips were tight and he scanned the area with little conclusion upon first glance.

It didn't take much exploration to come across an interesting display of military tents. Empty, of course.

The visitors strolled as the sun was given access to the asphalt but some chose to ignore that luxury. Jackson found the deceptively abandoned site to be much more informative.

"I don't understand, Dad," the young voice began behind him. "Did they leave?"

Scrambled eggs lay forgotten, rotting on the wide, flat plates. They were browned from the late morning air but Jackson noticed the distinct lack of mold. He picked up a nearby fork, prodding the disgusting substance. Soft enough to have been cooked just a few hours earlier, but they seemed more watery than fluffed. Supplies were running low.

Jackson tossed the utensil back with a grimace, wondering where the bastards were hiding.

He looked to Lisa, her machete cautiously shifting piles scattered on another desk across. Her eyes were flickering over the pages and he was certain she must have picked up on the dates he suspected were labeled.

"I don't like this," Lisa remarked, still taking in the information. She looked back up and he had a suspicion of what was worrying that pretty little head of hers.

If it wasn't deserted, why wouldn't they be upfront about it? They were soldiers, there to help people. Jackson sneered.

Lisa stepped out from the shade of the tent's cloth, but the walls still seemed too close for comfort. Her hand tensed instinctively, "I think we should go."

"No!" There was panic in Frank's voice. This was his chance, his hope, and it was falling quickly.

Jackson sighed in annoyance as the man scrambled to regain his sanity. It didn't appear to be working, as he went from truck to car, searching for something he couldn't even name. And to make it worse, he was looking in all the wrong places. Better to let the man vent than interrupt the rampage.

"Vehicles, check the vehicles." He slammed the next door closed after another failed search. "There has to be something."

There weren't even bodies to tell the story of this place, with only a mild breeze that drifted through from time to time. It only made the driver angry with his failure.

"Nothing…" Frank's voice had become small and filled with frustration. "I cannot believe it…."

Lisa looked to Jackson with question but he only offered a shrug. _Little to no help_. She turned back in time to catch Frank

"Frank," Lisa pleaded with worry. So many things that wanted to be said, and yet it was heartbreaking to try. What she knew was that they weren't safe yet, but he didn't seem to hear her. "Frank."

"We have to go," he conceded, but the tone was harsh.

"Yeah," she confirmed, with little else in explanation.

"Go fucking where?!" he shouted, turning on her and taking them all off-guard with the raised voice. His face distorted with fearful anger. There was defeat in behind his eyes and not one of them could look him in it.

Even Jackson for some god-forsaken reason had hoped the man was right, that there would be some Calvary here, waiting for them like good little soldier boys. But even he couldn't find the words.

Frank turned then, with no purpose of destination, only that he wanted away from the disappointment. He had disappointed them. Failed them. It was his job to find them hope and he couldn't even see it in himself.

He disappeared behind the walls of trucks and Jim was quick to point it out. "We can't let him go off alone."

"I agree, but what do you expect us to do?" Lisa remarked, harsher than she intended. "Go drag him back kicking and screaming?" There was a look about her that flashed with uncertainty and a tremor in her words.

"I'll talk to him," the daughter intervened with a stern straightening of the lip. "He'll calm down, he just…upset."

Hannah didn't wait for an answer or permission to turn after him, she just left, following the same path her father had disappeared down.

Jackson took Lisa by the arm, holding her back. His voice was quiet, just low enough the girl couldn't pick up, but he kept his gaze on her just the same. "We'll hang back a little, but I don't want her out of our sight."

She didn't pull away, if anything leaning closer into him. He turned then, those blue eyes saying enough for her to risk asking, "Did you see something?"

They hadn't seen anything, which was the problem. "You know it too," he answered. "It's not the things we can see that has me concerned."

Jackson looked away again just as Hannah rounded the corner. He let go of the Lisa's arm and they both moved in the girl's direction.

They didn't reach her before she had found him, as Frank rubbed his eyes in a way that had Hannah wondering if he hadn't been crying.

"Dad?" the girl questioned, worried about upsetting him more. "Are you alright?"

It was an awkward sensation, catching him in such an emotional state. She had never seen him so upset, not even after her mom had died. He kept it together then, he had to.

"Yeah, I'm fine sweetheart," he replied, but she wasn't sure if she could believe it. It was his answer though, and that was all she needed to hear. He, however, knew better and there wasn't much time. "I'm sorry I lost my temper."

The girl was surprised the apology came so quickly, but she wasn't about to complain. The other two wouldn't be far and they had to figure out where to go next if this fell through. Her dad looked at her only briefly, his eyes watered. He would follow her, she was sure of it, so she turned away.

"Hannah, I love you very much."

She turned at the tone with alarm, her heart pausing in her chest. She had heard that tone once before…when they had to put her puppy to sleep.

"Heh, what?"

He backed away, suddenly taken into the shadows of a nearby wall. Fear gripped her tightly in that moment.

"Keep away from me," he muttered, hunched as far back as he could.

She took a step closer. The footsteps behind her were as nothing. There was only him.

"Stay where you are," Frank repeated urgently.

"Dad?" Hannah whispered with tense unease, rushing towards him. She wanted to see his face, she wanted to look into those warm eyes she had known for so…

"Keep away from me!" Frank lunged, closing the distance and taking her unexpectedly by the arms to throw her back, further away from him.

Hannah fell roughly to the ground and felt Lisa help her back to her feet. Her father retreated again and a part of her didn't want to believe what had occurred. There was no possible way. There was nothing around. Nothing! He had only been out of her sight for a moment…

"Dad?!" She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, but nothing seemed to be functioning right.

"Keep away from me!" The man's body jerked unnaturally and Jackson could remember seeing it happen once before. There was nothing they could do except watch in odd fascination as the virus began to take hold.

"Keep away from me!" Frank still muttered, the words becoming more distorted with each outburst. "Keep away from me!"

He tried to leave, move away, but each step seemed more difficult.

"Dad!"

Jackson's mind raced at the sight. The man had been infected, somehow. His eyes darted around, attempting to grasp any details. There was no blood. How could he be infected if there was no blood?!

"Jim!" Lisa's voice dripped with a fear that made him cringe. Her expression echoed the pitch. He knew what she wanted him to do, and for once he found himself hesitant.

A flutter of movement came from above. The raven flew away just as he looked up to see the contaminated corpse and cursed at the answer. How could the man have been so stupid?

The woman pulled Hannah close in some effort of control. The girl couldn't handle it and her body wracked with panic. It was her dad.

"Jim, he's infected!" _I know, Leese_! Jackson's grip on the bat tightened.

Hannah's eyes widened with the implication and they turned back to the writhing form of her father. It wouldn't be long before he was gone entirely. "No!"

"Jim!" Lisa was trying to convince him further, but Jackson already was prepared.

His eyes narrowed with determination as he stepped forward. Jackson could hear her voice supporting in the background. Part of him relished in the words he never would have thought to hear her say. He only wished the circumstances had been different, "Jackson, kill him!"

His bat rose intensely and Frank turned to him one last time, eyes red and feral. It made things so much easier, forgetting this was just a man hardly moments earlier. Forgetting the way he smiled with good intentions and joked with promising aspirations.

It was the splatter of blood that took Jackson off guard, as the infected man paused mid-step and faltered back. Another shot rang out, another hole in the Frank's chest. Jackson lowered the bat in surprise and a wave of regret.

The oddest thought chose that moment to surface: what if there had been a cure?

Then there were more, shot after shot into the still body, splattering the blood in a mess professionals would have scoffed at. Wouldn't a simple bullet to the head have been enough? Especially in front of the girl. Especially with the risk of infection in the blood that coated the ground under their feet.

"Stay away from him!" a new voice commanded.

Jackson's gaze shot up to the approaching soldier, narrowed. Where were they when they had needed them? Waltzing in like the heroes when a simple 'hello' could have saved them all the trouble. How long were they waiting on the sidelines?

"Keep away from the body!" the order was repeated.

Jackson stepped back, turning his head only enough to see the new arrivals. There were three, four, covered in uniform and complete with masks.

"Dad?" Hannah cried hoarsely.

Lisa still clutched the girl firmly, her own expression one of shock. She looked back to Jackson, meeting his eyes as Hannah trembled. It was clear what he would have expressed, had he the chance.

They had found rescuers, but they were still far from being safe.

_**++&&&&++**_


	13. Unexpected

_**++&&&&++**_

The back of the Land Rover wasn't the most comfortable means of transport, but the party had little option.

The soldiers had given the cab a once-over, but despite protests the armed men had the final say in carpool assignments. Now, the captives (and that is precisely what they had become in Jackson's eyes) were being driven away from the city.

With Manchester in flames, there was little reason to suspect they would head in the direction of the fire, but that still brought the question of where exactly they would find themselves.

"Three survivors: one male, two female." One soldier spoke into his radio.

Designated 'Soldier Number Two' by Jackson, the man spoke clearly with a hint of American accent and an overall dullness to his personality. He was the only one to remove his headgear, perhaps for the purpose of the call.

"I repeat, one male, two females. ETA: 15."

For the remainder of the trip, that same soldier watched them, tight grip on his weapon of choice, and leaving Jackson tense under the scrutiny. Still, the Manager in him remained silent, assessing what he could. Jackson glanced to the driver's backside.

There had only been four men at the scene and judging by their attitude there seemed to be little chance of having more visitors before the end of the day.

Three had taken the truck, shuffling the newcomers in with little gentleness, while the last drove the cabbie out in front. There were limited questions and even fewer answers, but Jackson could read between the lines about the current situation.

Reserves were few and far between, and the way the designated back-seat-crowd-control started eying Lisa indicated a condition Jackson hoped would be clarified and terminated once they reached their destination. They needed to get to safety…he needed to get the girls to safety, and if this was the means to accomplish that he would tolerate it as best as he was able.

In the meanwhile, Jackson's attention was firmly on Number Two now, and he wasn't about to look away.

Trees gave way to open ground, the grass clipped short on the sides of the drive. Down the way a large building came into view. The red brick was trimmed with white and contrasted sharply against the surrounding foliage. It wasn't a military base, at least as far as conventional views would make it seem, although barbed wire now lined the parameter and decorated the visible walls.

They were cautious about the route, and Jackson noticed traps along the ground every now and then. Preparations had been made and he was glad for it. When they approached the drive a crude gate blocked the way, guarded by two men who pulled the sides away to allow the vehicles entry.

It had been a mansion once, perhaps housing dozens of guests for some elaborate party or such. The imagination could go wild, but fantasies were not in line with the day's events that brought them to the white stone steps. If they had, the man standing at the top could have been a duke, or lord of the manor, and there was little doubt the figure thought of himself as anything less.

The officer remained static, with not so much as a smile, hands firmly clasped behind his back.

The soldiers cleared way, rounding the truck and opening the latch to allow the rescued exit. They weren't about to display any propriety, so Jackson helped Hannah down himself.

She was a wreck, eyes dark with grief, and they had not even offered their condolences. Lisa had already disembarked before he could offer and shook her head quietly with a restrained smile.

"I'm Major Henry West," the man on the stairs greeted them. He wouldn't step down from his post, waiting instead for them to approach him.

Jackson saw it as a clear image of what they could expect in the future and it didn't feel promising.

"Welcome."

_Might as well dive in_. "I'm Jim." Jackson offered his hand out and the Major took it in a firm shake and nod, a forced smile finally allowing itself presence.

"Welcome Jim," West turned to Lisa with an equal smile, taking her hand warmly. "Hello."

Lisa started to respond with an introduction, but the Major had already looked away, not even giving a second thought to the girl at her side. Hannah didn't seem bothered, her gaze still damp and distant.

Jackson caught Lisa's eye, confirming the odd greeting and she offered a look of agitation. The Major took no notice of the exchange, or ignored it if he had, continuing with formalities.

"Well, we've got beds with clean sheets, and a boiler that produces hot water, so you can all have a shower. You look like you need one." He looked over all of them, but he stopped on Jackson at the end of the remark with absolutely no discretion.

_Forget your manners already, Old Man_? It had been a long week. Was it almost a week already? And in truth, Jackson craved a hot shower.

"Please," West stepped aside with an indication to enter.

Lisa looked to Hannah but the girl found her shoes more interesting than any temptations the soldiers might have presented. However they all needed a good rest, so without a word Lisa pulled Hannah close before leading her through the tall doors of the house.

_**++&&&&++**_

The water was warm against Jackson's chilled skin and he freely gave in to the moment, closing his eyes beneath the flowing showerhead. The droplets hit the tile in patterns that he listened to vaguely as his muscles relaxed.

His mind calmed in what felt like the first time since the hospital. _Just breathe_. All the dirt, the blood, the grime washed away until he could look back on it all with reminiscence.

Five days? Six? They all seemed to mesh together now. The whole situation was ridiculous, and he wouldn't have been here if it wasn't for _her_.

_Leese_. Jackson leaned a hand against the shower tile, head bent and teeth clenched. Neither of them would have ended up here if it hadn't been for that job. He would have still been in the States, no doubt, and Lisa…she never would have gotten on that plane.

She would have never known the name 'Jackson', and probably would have been the better for it.

He spit out the trickle of water that had crept into his mouth.

It was always a matter of life or death though, wasn't it? The image of his mother's body was still freshly imprinted and Jackson's stomach churned.

It seemed as though someone was always dangling some piece of bait over his head like he was a damned monkey. _Playing for the penny, always playing for the penny_.

The Organization knew everything about him: every nook, every cranny, and he had finally failed. It was to be expected. Most Members failed much earlier in their career, but somehow he had hoped it was almost finished. If he did good enough, if he could put aside the voices of morality long enough…

His mother might have had a chance if he had the balls to take Lisa out that day, cover up the witness. But somewhere along the way, he had screwed it up to hell.

And now?

Even now they wanted him alive. God help him, even in this nightmare there was still the chance they might have some plan for him or else he would have died in that hospital room long before. And one other thing was certain: if he managed to make it out of this alive, they would be looking.

Jackson slammed the nozzle off.

The peacefulness that he had found under the sounds of the flowing water had cut off, much to his annoyance. Instead the world rang loudly with arguing voices muffled beyond the walls of the bathrooms.

It wasn't the cries of injured or panicked tones that might have given cause for alarm, so Jackson took his time in investigating the commotion outside.

He grabbed the clean towel, soft against his bare skin, and stepped towards the window.

"_You find that funny_?" a voice remarked from outside. The sound was stifled, but the glass pane was old and not as secure as it might have been once. Jackson looked out, easily spotting the soldiers in the drive.

"_I've got loads of cooking still to do_!" it came again.

The familiar cab was being run in circles around a single, scrawny man whose arms were laden with the supplies. One soldier was driving while another was flamboyantly making a scene from atop the roof where what little remaining articles hung on for dear life.

They had no idea, did they? The respect they should have for a dead man's belongings. Jackson's eyes narrowed as he continued to watch the fuss.

"_Run 'im over_!" The man on the cab roof encouraged, laughing wildly.

The cab continued to circle until the driver came into view once more.

The position was clear enough for Jackson to get a good look at that soldier's face and his features darkened. He recognized the man instantly; of all the places to find another Member.

Jackson cursed.

_**++&&&&++**_


	14. Rivalries

_**++&&&&++**_

The door to the bedroom opened and Lisa turned at the sound. She debating standing, but her posture relaxed as she saw the dark-haired man in the doorway. He had changed into clothes that did him no justice, but it didn't take away from how good it felt to see him back. _Something of the familiar_, she reassured herself.

Jackson looked over to the girl who now slept on the single bed that decorated the room. One could only pray it was dreamless.

The teen had cried until she lay exhausted, collapsing into unconsciousness. The men had offered Lisa a room of her own, but it didn't feel right to leave Hannah. Not now, not ever. So she had found herself sitting, looking out into the brilliant sunlight of the unusual breach in the clouds. It had been an attempt to push away her thoughts, however now all Lisa saw was blue.

"How's she doing?" he asked quietly as Jackson took a seat at the window. The man clenched his jaw in that manner that had become more frequent over the past day and she couldn't help but wonder at the trigger.

It made her remember his posture, his conversation, the casual way he had inserted himself into her life in what seemed so long ago. The way the palm trees swayed under a hot breeze and the windows would roll down during a trip on the Turnpike.

She could picture her father now, calling with desperate urgency to find out if she was all right, how she was doing. How was she doing?

"She's lost her dad," Lisa replied with more bitterness than she meant. Her lips were turned downward into a frown as she looked at the sleeping figure.

She should have been allowed to finish growing up with nothing to worry about but boys, and dances, and where to head off to college. Or university, or whatever the hell the people called it in England. Even the grass was foreign, when she would run across the plush green and the strands would threaten to make her slip in her get-away.

There was nothing like the bristled weeds that people grew on the five-by-five piece of land some called a yard back home.

"She'll be alright," Lisa heard him say and nearly wanted to smack the confidence from his tone. "She's strong. She'll manage just like you have."

It almost seemed like admiration in his voice, but she couldn't look past his ignorance. It was so easy to confuse what she once knew of him and this stranger. Jackson would have understood long before even she did, he would have seen…

"You think I'm alright?" Her face reflected the scrutiny and a hint of disbelief.

"No, actually, I don't." He surprised her by answering without pause. Jackson stood and approached, every word steady and his gaze remained unrelenting. He paused at her side and she had to tilt her head to look up at him.

"In fact," he continued, pointedly leaning closer, a hand on her arm. It was merely for the touch of her, his skin on hers in the intimacy of his observations. "I suspect that every time you pause, every time you close your eyes, you see every one of those faces of each and every person who didn't make it. Thinking to yourself how every time you managed to be just that tiny bit luckier. Wondering."

She visibly winced at the truth of it, surprised at his boldness. But wasn't that what she wanted? No lies about her state of mind. She could feel the tears that threatened to fall and was even more surprised when his gaze softened and he uttered a barely audible sigh before coming to his conclusion.

"But I do know you won't let that stop you. It's not your fault, not one shred of it." Lisa tried to turn away at his words, but he took her chin under his fingers and pulled her to face him once again. He had done that before, although the touch had been much more forceful then.

"…And I think there are times when you are able to forget those fears and focus on the moment, convince yourself you just don't care. But you do. And because of that, somewhere along the way, you'll have to realize that you always will. It won't stop those bad things from happening. The question is only how you're going to handle it at the end of the day."

Those hazel eyes burned into him, and he knew she was losing the last of her control. "Sometimes…I don't want to 'handle' it anymore."

At her response, Jackson tilted his head in curiosity, his eyes narrowed gently as he waited for her to explain.

"Those moments you talk about," her voice quivered. "…where I pause, I wonder what it would be like just to stop."

He could see the defeat as she spoke, and he couldn't help but worry if she would hold, if she would stand up to his expectations. Jackson needed her strong, especially now. There was a complication that he wasn't looking forward to confronting and if she wasn't on the alert...

Well, he'd rather not consider that option.

"Now, see, that kind of talk just won't do." His thumb caressed her jaw and he tried to offer a supportive smile. "We still have your dad to get to."

There was a brief smile on her lips in return, but it didn't last long and he saw her cracking at the edges. He had hoped the suggestion would help, that it would spark something in her to forget doomed comments and the sort. But the exhaustion from the past few weeks hitting her body in trembling waves as the tears finally fell.

Her eyes closed as if it would help conceal her fears.

"What if…?" she struggled to get the words out, but they were choked. She couldn't look at him, couldn't look outside at the calm exterior that reminded her of normality. She couldn't bear to finish the statement of her doubt.

Jackson easily pulled the woman against him and it was the last straw. Lisa offered no resistance, sobbing freely into his chest.

It was painful to hear, as she broke, reminding him of how much things had changed. Jackson remembered her scar and what she had revealed to him that day. Despite her trials, despite the complications he had given her, she still had a fight in her that challenged anyone who would test it.

Oh, how he had challenged her.

He muttered words of comfort, of 'hushes,' simply holding her. For a moment, just one moment she thought she heard _Leese_, but it was fleeting and gone. He moved a hand into her hair, stroking the limp curls that had been allowed down in one of the rare moments. He had missed them.

_What are you doing, Jimmy Boy_?

Sense told him to stop, that it wasn't what she wanted. But somewhere in his discern of logic, he convinced himself it was what they both needed.

He cupped her face in his hand. It was gentle, soft under the streaks of tears. Jackson risked brushing his lips over her skin, warm against the cheek, but Lisa couldn't bring herself to look at him. She clutched at his shirt, at his arm as he kissed her. His mouth followed the damp path down until they touched the corner first, testing.

She was the one who turned, taking his lips fully to her own. It was tender, lingering with uncertainty. He tasted of Listerine.

It was not the sort of kiss she expected from Jackson and part of her was sorry for it. It was that break in the fantasy that caused her pull away and open her eyes to his. He was still close, breathing deeply with a fire in his gaze that made her wonder if he hadn't been holding back.

Why would he do that?

"You,"he whispered with a husky quality in his voice. "You are handling it just fine."

Jackson released her and stepped away. Her body tingled in the aftermath, her eyes widely observing the mixed emotions on his face. If anything, his reaction was the thing that startled her more than the kiss.

"We'll find some way to get you back to your dad. Okay?" he promised.

Lisa nodded with little else she could think so say, tears forgotten.

He didn't give her any further opportunity, instead leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

_**++&&&&++**_

Jackson's room was down the hall and around a bend. It was far, too far to hear the girls, but he had been assured arrangements would be made to move him closer. To date, he had seen men on the field, others pittling time away, but nothing done to prepare the room next door.

However, his steps weren't on the path to a secluded haven. It was time for a chat with the man in charge.

Rounding the corner he saw a distinctly different man waiting leisurely against the wall. His blond hair had been cropped short, rifle in hand. David Keplan had always been good with a gun, but he couldn't initiate a plan for shit. He was a follower, but if anything that made him even more of a danger because you could never tell exactly which side was paying the most on any given day.

Keplan smiled widely but Jackson didn't return the favor. "Of all the people to show up at these gates, I never would have guessed it would have been you, Donovan."

"Surprise," Jackson remarked with little amusement. If Keplan had made it, there could be no doubt that others lived. Had he really hoped otherwise?

"I mean, I know you were good," the man continued, playing to his ego. It was all a game; they had never gotten along well. "…but I never expected this trick up your sleeve."

_Keep on underestimating me_, Jackson dared as he leaned back in his stance, firming his position with arms crossed in assessment.

"I do two things well, Kep," he explained. His voice dropped low and dangerous, the Irish hints dropped away with familiar ease. There was no reason for pretenses. "Keep things discrete, and survive. It's why I always got the high marks and you couldn't quite seem to earn your keep. You were always too sloppy. Tell me, how did the cab run? She seemed to be struggling a bit there at the end."

The assassin's smile fell and he leaned in closer. Jackson made no move to back way, instead staring back with challenge.

"Sloppy," Keplan repeated, testing how the word felt on his tongue. "That's an interesting choice of words after Keefe."

He was right. As much as Jackson wanted to excuse what happened back in Miami, he had let it go too far. He had tried to protect too many people, and truth be told, it was the first job in a long time where his heart just wasn't in it. It was always easier when you believed in the cause, easier when the targets had a shady background. With Keefe, it was all political and it was all about the payment.

"Keefe was risky, high-profile. I'm not going to discuss it anymore than that. Not here, and not now."

He knew he had said too much even in that. Keplan grinned, brown eyes sparkling with as much as could be expected from the color. Jackson had always preferred something more…unique.

Jackson unfolded his arms and started to walk. Better to not give the man any more fire.

"I know that girl, Jack," Keplan said to the retreating man's back.

_Don't stop. He wants you to stop_. Jackson wanted to curse at the casual use of his pet name. The only time he had ever enjoyed the sound of it was on her lips.

"We all knew her face after what happened."

Keplan followed and Jackson couldn't help but slow down with bitterness on his tongue, "That's a pleasant thought. Have a good rub?"

The man probably did, and the thought of it made Jackson sick.

"I find it interesting how the very target that screwed you over is sitting in this same building, when nearly all of England," he had raised his voice and Jackson finally stopped, turning on his heels with a glare.

Keplan paused mid-step, taking the hint and dropped the volume with a hiss. There was no more amusement in his features. "…England, let me remind you, where you were ironically pulled thousands of miles from her. When nearly all of England is a fucking, walking mausoleum."

Keplan was riding the edge. It was Jackson's turn to lean into the man's personal space, with a cock of his head and clear speech, "No need for the language, Kep."

He remained careful not to touch the other man, no reason to give him just cause. Ironic. Jackson mulled over the choice of wording, "I think someone's been misinformed. She was never the target."

"Heh, sure," Keplan responded with a sarcastic undertone. "You watch some of the best fall under this shit and see how your language settles."

_So he did know something_. Anything would be worth hearing at this point, even from the likes of him.

"What happened to Roberts? Sheridan? Ellen?"

The man knew had been offered a hint of importance and took the opportunity to soak it up. Keplan explained, "Last time I heard, the Organization was scattered. Few of the players still on tour in Italy, few keeping quiet in the States. Only Harrison made it on a flight out, according to the last news I heard."

Evacuations. That meant there some someplace to evacuate to, and the idiot was probably too stupid to think about making a run for it. Or too stupid to make it if he tried.

The soldier continued, "As I see it, we're as good as dead here. They won't risk coming in after us. We aren't worth it, even if they knew you pulled through."

"Who's to say they don't?" Jackson paused, letting the words linger. He couldn't help the grin that followed as Keplan faltered in his confidence.

"Why?" Keplan's first question was directed more to himself than to the Manager. "What could you possibly be worth to them, Donovan?"

"I know someone made sure I stayed alive in that hospital." It was a statement they both took to heart. Once you entered the services they owned you, in some manner or another. If they had wanted him dead, he never would have made it to the shores of Great Britain.

"Well they are long gone now," Keplan stated, shifting his rifle as he tried to regain the upper hand. He was failing miserably. "…and in this place, you aren't the hot-shot."

Jackson was expecting it. "From what I've seen, neither are you."

"Biding time, Donovan." There was no smile on his lips. In fact, Jackson got the impression the man was just following the waves, lost. It made him feel a whole lot better about his own stand on things. "Biding time."

The conversation was over. Jackson didn't offer any 'farewells' or 'catch-you-later.' He fully expected the man to have nothing more to say, but this time he was the one caught underestimating.

Jackson had barely turned when Keplan started to instigate once more, "I have to say she is as lovely as I imagined."

He was pushing the limits and Jackson's eyes darkened as he wondered where the soldier was heading.

"All that time on surveillance must have been a nice break for you. Especially after that Jones job."

Eight weeks. He remembered them clearly: the days when he sent out the dogs, the days he got in the car and handled it himself. There had been a lot more of those than he had anticipated. Call him a masochist, but then Lisa had that way about her that often made him lose his mind.

And then there was Jones: that had been chaos, although he had come to redefine the term after waking up in St. Thomas. Looking back, transporting a Crime Lord seemed like a walk in the park.

On the other hand, here, there were no snipers waiting around the bend, only Keplan wasting his fucking time, getting in the way, and generally making him very irritated.

"If the stories are true, she'll be a real challenge." Keplan commented with that smile again, and haughty posture he had no right to claim. "…But I think she'll come around, don't you? I've been told I have charm."

There was something in Keplan's voice that put Jackson on edge. Keplan knew something else, something about this place, and it screamed through his eyes, his smile, but Jackson couldn't make out the words.

"Is that what they are calling arrogance these days?"

"Call it what you will, I can't wait to taste those pretty lips of hers."

"You won't touch her, Keplan!" Jackson spit quicker than he had intended. It took him a minute to realize he had grabbed the man's jacket and thrown him against the wall. His voice was deep and jaw clenched as he spoke. "Let's just make that clear, right?"

"You think I'm the only one you have to worry about, Jack?" the man uttered, wincing.

Jackson let go as if burned, his eyes still fiery with warning, and Keplan stepped back warily.

"Don't pull any of that 'Jack' shit while I'm here," Jackson warned. "I'm sure those soldier boys out there don't have a clue about your background and somehow, I get the impression it's not so safe to advertise your line of work. Not with the instability I've seen from those men. They're going to crack, and I don't know about you but I'd rather not be on the receiving end."

Their stance was clear as the two men stood in front of each other and finally the soldier kept his mouth shut.

Jackson left Keplan standing there as he turned down the hall, disappearing around the bend. The remaining man's smile fell, straightening in thought. Perhaps he would get one-up on Donovan after all.

Keplan frowned, "You have no idea…"

_**++&&&&++**_


	15. Around the Table

_**++&&&&++**_

"So you heard our broadcast."

West sat comfortably in a sturdy patio chair that overlooked the wide yard. The sun was still out and the grass damp from a few brief sprinkles earlier in the day. He never looked up as Jackson came near, instead observing a pair of his men in the field as they held watch.

He was calm and unsurprised at the approach, almost as if West was expecting the confrontation.

"Yeah, we did." Jackson emphasized the 'we' but somehow he doubted the man would think to address it. It seemed he had no intention of explaining anything to the women beyond the necessary locations of things such as the toilets.

"We must be a disappointment."

_Putting it mildly_, Jackson thought with agitation but decided it would be best to keep his opinions to himself. It was a time to learn, not lecture. Still, the conflict in the building had put him on edge. It was a high not easily brought down.

"You were hoping for a full Brigade: an army base with helicopters and a field hospital," the man continued with a tone of distinct boredom, refusing to look Jackson in the eye.

There was no intent to research the details behind these people they had 'rescued', or the circumstances in their arrival. Most likely there hadn't even been a single thought to the dead man they had finished off earlier. He could see the sense in such a mindset, but Jackson had dealt with his sort before and it was never enjoyable.

"The answer to infection," the Major continued. Jackson couldn't deny some answers would be nice, but he'd much rather a solution given the severity. Still, he wouldn't pass up an opportunity.

"Something along those lines would be nice," Jackson remarked with bitterness. The officer finally caught wind of it enough to look up with slight apprehension. But only slight. Too enraptured in his own self-importance.

"Well, as I said before, it's here." West took a stand to meet Jackson's eye, hand keeping the weapon close as seemed to be the way at this base. "Though it may not be quite what you imagined."

"Just feel very lucky to have found you." Jackson didn't bother to hide his sarcasm that time, as it dripped angrily. He reminded himself to keep things low key. _Play to the ego, you might get what you need_. Yes, answers would be nice.

The Major only smiled at the compliment, all appearances ignoring the tension.

"You were very lucky," West impressed upon Jackson. "The fire drove hundreds of infected out of Manchester. The surrounding area is teaming with them."

Not the news he wanted to hear. _Fuck_. What had they gotten themselves into?

"But don't worry, you're quite safe here." West started down the wide series of steps and towards the open field, giving no pause to question if Jackson was in a mood to follow or not.

Jackson's lips tightened in displeasure at the man's words. _Sure_.

He did follow, however, curious to see the layout. There was only so much one could see without being the person to lay it all down. The location overall wasn't bad in terms of visibility.

"Flat terrain all around the house," the Major reaffirmed with a series of pointing and waves to indicate the placement. "Flood lights, hooked up to the generators outside. High parameter walls, which helps, and we've been lacing the land with tripwires and land mines."

Jackson had hoped for a slightly more…detailed…show-and-tell session, but it seemed he would have to settle. He caught sight of the distinct white stripes tracing a path down the yard and was concerned when the officer made no mention of it. Why wouldn't West be upfront about the safety route?

"Wouldn't want to mow the lawn, but if they get in, we can hear them."

Bells and whistles were nice, but it would only take one to get past.

They continued along, passing a soldier at his post on the field. He lay on the grass, armed. Jackson wondered how good a shot he really was, or if he was just another spare body on the team there for shear luck. He took note of the face and dubbed the black man 'Grass Stains.' _Counting_…

The tour was done on the open grounds and West moved purposefully back indoors. The halls were dark from the constrained angle of the sun and the walls littered with box after box of supplies.

"Secondary to protection, our real job is to rebuild."

Jackson was tempted to ask what, but the man wasn't about to pause. Rebuild society? He'd prefer to find out if society wasn't hiding out down in Africa by now or Peru.

"Start again." West continued as they turned. The aroma of food drifted in, but it wasn't overly pleasant. "The belly of the house. Hot. The wood fire boiler providing us with hot water: the first step towards civilization."

For once, Jackson found he could agree.

They came to a pair of open doors and stopped at the entrance. It was obviously the kitchen, with a large brick fireplace that defined its age. Although its uses also included drying from the display of clothes that hung across the mantle.

A long wooden table sat in the center, occupied by a mix of ingredients and men who were fiddling away time with bickering. They hadn't seemed to notice the newcomers.

"The kitchen…" West confirmed and Jackson bit back any remarks.

One of the men looked over with a wide smile and Jackson recognized him from the stint outside with the cab. He was a lanky man, wearing an apron of pink frills that would make anyone laugh. Jackson remained stoic.

The soldier didn't seem to think much of his comedic state, stirring away at the bowl in his arms despite the jeering by the other soldiers who seemed to have nothing better to do than poke fun. As they came to notice the Major, the voices quieted.

Jackson counted eight men now, including the Major. Although Number Two had been strangely absent. _Counting_…

"With Jones, our restaurateur debonair …." West didn't move forward, instead giving a curious nod to the chef and a smile. "What are you cooking today, Jones?"

"It's a surprise, sir," the soldier replied with a proud smile of his own that displayed a set of teeth that could have used some work. But it was still the most genuine thing Jackson had seen since they had arrived.

"I can't wait," West said calmly but his eyes told another story. It reminded Jackson of a father whose son could never do a thing right and he felt the creeping anger in his veins. He didn't want to be here. Not like this, and not with these men.

Jones only grinned in reply before continuing with his mission, oblivious to the demeaning undertone.

The two men turned again, leaving the soldiers to their work, or lack of as the case may be. The next hall wasn't long, running along the side of said kitchen. It ended at a solid door to the side of the house. With an easy push, West had turned the knob.

It wasn't the side of the house, in fact, as Jackson had first thought, but a small yard between the wings. A courtyard almost, decorated with lines of dirty laundry that once might have been only left out to dry in all their freshness.

"And lastly, meet Mailer."

West had barely spoken when a snarling mass lunged through the sheets. If they hadn't been stained with blood before, the creature's actions made sure of it now.

The infected man was still decked in a soldier's garb, red eyes violent against the dark of his skin. It was the intense surprise of the motion that made Jackson jump back a step with defensiveness. He missed the feel of the wooden weapon in his hand, no matter how obsolete it might seem next to an L85.

The attack was halted as the chain attached to the thick metallic collar halted the infected just in time. West never flinched.

"Mailer, Jim …." the Major introduced casually as the ex-soldier thrashed and pushed at the chain's limits.

Jackson was surprised he hadn't already snapped his neck. The pressure seemed to affect him a little at least, as the infected lost his footing and crashed hard to the ground. He still persisted, scraping at the dirt with gasping urgency as he tried to pull himself closer. The effort was wasted.

"Got infected two days ago. Mitchell managed to knock him out cold, and we got a chain around his neck."

"You're keeping him alive?" There was no hiding his disbelief as Jackson took a cautious step back.

The ex-soldier had calmed, gasping at the limits of his freedom. His eyes focused on the man once his superior and Jackson couldn't help but wonder why the creature hadn't once looked at his own direction.

The Major only smiled. **"**The idea was to learn more about infection. Have him teach me."

"And has he?" Jackson questioned skeptically.

"In a way." West knelt by the fallen soldier with not even a hint of fear from the action. All it would take was one spit of blood.

Mailer began to thrash with renewed vengeance, groaning angrily. Jackson wondered how much the infected remembered, how much he understood of his situation.

"He's telling me he'll never bake bread, plant crops, raise livestock. He's telling me he's futureless."

West was mad. Compassionless. It had been a soldier, one of his own men, and he was using it like an animal. A sick, diseased animal. It should have been put down long ago. What if it had been Mark? Frank?

_Never_.

"And eventually, he'll tell me how long the infected take to starve to death."

_Weeks, you fool_. It would take a man weeks, months, always varied depending on the person. And despite the differences, they were still dealing with just a man. A man with a virus.

The writhing form had calmed, watching him with eerily intelligent eyes. Lisa's words echoed back, 'He knew.' When Mark had been infected he knew it was happening. In the end would it matter? It was only a man gone mad, but there was no amount of therapy that could save him.

Jackson looked back up to the now closed door that the Major had disappeared beyond. He hadn't even noticed the officer leave. If this was his only reason for keeping the infected man…it didn't take a virus to turn a man insane.

_**++&&&&++**_

Lights flickered around the dim setting of the large dining room. The candles were dripping, eagerly awaiting the last guest. Despite the characteristics of the romantic setting, the trio considered it anything but. They were tense, listening to the cheerful banter of the men that surrounded the room.

Keplan sat at the far end, careful to avoid contact with familiar eyes, and Jackson was too glad to oblige. There was no mistaking how aware they were of the other's presence. Otherwise, none tried to make small talk. None asked questions. None showed more than polite civility.

Hannah sat between the couple, watching the scene before her with not so much as a peep. She hadn't said a word and nothing more was asked of her. It was a time of mourning.

Jackson looked over to Lisa and she returned the motion. She was uncomfortable, but it was neither the time nor place to complain.

It was then that the Major strode in, apparently all blaze and glory from the ruckus the soldiers started making. There was shouting and yelling in a very testosterone-driven way. Their sovereign took it all with pleasure, offering the type of acceptance that secretly begged for more.

They were quieted easily enough with a wave of the hand that fell only to swipe the lone hat from a nearby soldier. There was no mistaking his dissatisfaction.

"Hat," West remarked with a grimace, removing the accessory. The man wisely offered no resistance.

Following close at the Major's heel was the lean cook, still proudly displaying his Betty Crocker tribute. Jones closed the door, shutting out a mild draft that had been briefly allowed in the room. The candle flames stilled instantly and the room suddenly began to feel oddly suffocating.

As Jones took his place, West remained standing to look over the display with satisfaction.

"So, what have we here," his words hinted at his perpetual cynicism and Jackson had an idea of how the morale of the men were faring if this was the only sort of leadership offered.

West's gaze roamed and the desperate cook looked on with eagerness. Jones was practically begging for compliments.

"Tin ham, tin peas, tin beans and…" The Major finally reached the lid of the main course, removing it with a swift motion. "…omelet!"

Jones paused for the reaction and was pleased with the smile offered and roar of excitement all around. "You've prepared a feast, Jones!" West confirmed.

In Jackson's view it was hardly a compliment, merely an observation. Surely the man could give more than that. The soldier had put his heart and soul into the meal, even if it was lacking.

"In honor of our guests, sir." Jones seemed to pay no mind to anything except what he saw as praise, his smile wide and beaming.

"Absolutely." West looked out over the table with a smile, turning from one man to the next until he reached Jackson's blue stare. "I was going to propose a toast, but this omelet will do just as well." He took an ambitious helping with a stab of the fork, holding up the prize for all to see.

"To new friends," his voice boomed which sparked a holler in return from nearly all ends.

"To new friends!" rang the echo.

Jackson watched in anticipation as the Major took a taste, the officer's face contorted in disgust. He looked about ready to gag, spitting it back out on the closest surface.

"Jones!"

The underling's expression reflected the fear of what he knew was soon to follow.

"Did you notice, while cooking, that these eggs are rotten?"

Jackson looked around the room at the faces of each man. None were ready to offer any sort of defense and they really didn't seem very surprised either.

So that confirmed that Jones was the fuck up…the fall-out boy for this crew. This hadn't been the first time and now, when put on the spot, he failed, as they all knew he would. As they had set it up to be. Jackson wondered which one of the men gave him the eggs.

"I thought that the salt might cover the taste a bit."

Grass Stains smirked, containing a laugh. Had he been the one to offer that advice?

"Get rid of it." West commanded as he pushed the plate away. Looking to Hannah expectantly. It had been the first time since she arrived. "I don't suppose you can cook, can you?"

She looked up at him with a glare of defiance.

_That's a girl_, Jackson praised inwardly, wondering how the man had the gall. All these men, and not one of them could take on the duties of a simple meal. These were the men their leader expected to 'rebuild' society. His jaw tensed with irritation.

"I can't tell you how badly we need someone with a little flair in the kitchen."

Lisa had remained silent from her place, but she was quickly growing tired of keeping her mouth shut. "Where do…?!"

Hannah was the one to react first, grabbing the woman's arm with uncharacteristic swiftness and a shake of the head. It wasn't worth it. Not yet.

"What a disappointment," Kelpan reprimanded with no sense of propriety. He reached forward, taking a share of the food in front of his dish. "Waste all those eggs…"

"We'll have eggs again," one man tried in vain to encourage. "Once everything's back to normal."

Jackson took notice with sparked curiosity. So they were out of eggs, and someone had probably been foolish enough to loose the chicken as well. Or greedy enough.

"Oh you Moppet!" One voice rang and all eyes were drawn. "I mean will you look at him? He's still waiting for Marks and Spencer to reopen." He started laughing at his own humor.

Another lashed out crossly in response, "Look, mate, you don't know nothin'."

For once, West seemed to perceive the rowdiness was out of place. "Alright, that's enough."

But they had already gotten started. It was a dark-haired man who spoke next, with his uniform that judged his rank just over the rest.

"When you look at the whole life of the planet, we…you know, _man_…has only been around for a few blinks of an eye." A few scoffed as if this sermon had already been lectured. "So if the infection wipes us all out... that is a return to normality."

Perhaps he thought it would help settle the spirits but in Jackson's perspective, he was doing a shit job.

The Major turned to Jackson with a sly smile. "Have you met our "new age" sergeant? Our very own guru." He spun back on the sergeant with a vicious tone. "Tell me, Farrell, why exactly did you join the army?"

It appeared to be a sore subject between the two and the dark-haired soldier quieted to give the Major reign.

"This is what I've seen in our four weeks since infection," West started, addressing the newcomers.

The soldiers had heard this tune several times over, Jackson assumed by the expressions.

"People killing people," West continued. "Which is much what I saw in the four weeks before infection, and the four weeks before that, and before that, and as far back as I care to remember. People killing people. Which to my mind, puts us in a state of normality right now."

He leaned back in his seat to take a deep drink from his glass. It was an effort to drown out the 'main course' that didn't go unnoticed. The silence that followed was uncomfortable, to say the least. A few ventured to take some food here and there, but otherwise there was the impression that a simple movement could instigate him further.

It was Lisa who was determined to break the silence, but she wasn't about the grace the men with her conversation. "You should eat," she whispered to the girl at her side.

"I don't want to eat," Hannah replied quietly without a second look at the food.

"You must eat, Hannah." West commanded, drawing a vicious glare from the teenager.

"I don't want to eat," she replied louder, the tension in her hands gave away the anger at bay. "I want to bury my dad. He's one of the people you're talking about."

At least the man had the decency to keep any response to himself, Jackson observed. Better to just let it drop. West did one step above as he nodded in compliance, settling with a sigh as he turned away from her glare.

Then, the world shook, with tremors and an explosion that set the flames to dance on the walls. Jackson didn't need to hear the shouts of the men to know they were being attacked.

It wasn't the bustle of soldiers around him that made him certain everything was about to change. He saw it in the Sergeant's eyes. The walls were about to come crashing down.

_**++&&&&++**_


	16. Promises

_**++&&&&++**_

The brilliant burst from the spotlights flashed on, streaming onto the recently vacated table. West never rose from his seat, only taking another sip from his drink with a calming sigh as if it were not the first attack. It would have been foolish to think it was, and it would most certainly not be the last.

Even still, West gave no false comforts, no sign of acknowledgement in the situation. No. There would be no help from that man in setting their minds at ease.

Jackson stood and Lisa followed, the look of fear evident on her face. But it wasn't the woman who concerned him, it was the girl.

Hannah was calm, eyes drawn to the window. The only thing to give away her true feelings was the tremble in her fingers. Jackson gave a silent offering of thanks that she had sense enough to still hold even that bit of reality together.

"Take her," he told Lisa firmly, taking the girl by the arm. Hannah didn't resist as he pulled her to her feet. He motioned to the bedrooms. He remembered the window but otherwise it should be safely away from the fight. "Lock the door."

Hazel eyes narrowed with confusion. "What are you…?"

"Go." Jackson's tone left nothing open for debate and she knew enough not to question further.

They were down the hall as the shouting and gunfire continued just beyond the outer wall. There was a window not far that was sure to be a good sightseeing spot and he took position with a few well-placed strides.

"They listen to you." West had been watching with interest that seemed far too close for comfort.

"Yeah," Jackson replied tensely. What else did the man want him to say? Start asking questions into the background…history? It was none of his damned business.

Jackson continued to watch the scene outdoors, ignoring the Major's expected departure. It was a bloody mess with some of the soldier's letting the infected get closer than they should. It was dangerous, but as long as they didn't forget themselves it wouldn't be a threat for long. It was all in plain sight now, and once infected the creatures weren't known for their stealth.

If nothing else Keplan was a good shot, and he wasn't one to give up easily.

Lisa moved at the edge of his vision and he turned. She stood there quietly gripping her weapon in hand. She should have stayed with Hannah but somehow Jackson couldn't bring himself to confront her about it.

Lisa wasn't going to leave. He was proud that she was ready for the fight if it came to that and he almost couldn't see her fear.

Jackson smiled to himself as he turned back to the window. _Don't worry, Leese_. _We aren't going down yet. _He saw an infected woman fall from a headshot. _Not yet_.

It was over quickly, considering, and soon the sirens died down and the yard was scattered with only the dead. The men were all too eager to leave their posts.

The couple watched in silence as the soldiers stepped into sight, swaggering with laughter and pride behind their jokes. They were treating it like a game, and overall that kind of attitude would be what was going to get them killed.

'Bright Eyes' led the way and Jackson couldn't help but wonder why they had never been properly introduced. In truth the pet names made him smile inside. Like the feeling of giving a speech in front of a room of people you pictured naked.

He shuddered at the very crude image.

This soldier was the loud one in the bunch, and the gleam that lit up his face was a far cry from intelligence. It was a look that made Lisa rigid with unwanted familiarity. His step slowed as he approached, grin widening as she froze in place.

"Oh," he started with full attention on the woman. "Hello."

His gaze trailed down her body with distinct hunger and Jackson's eyes narrowed angrily. There was a cat whistle from an unknown spectator and Lisa took a step back, her fist clenched around the hilt of the machete until her knuckles turned white.

It only took one swift motion for the soldier to toss his own weapon to a stammering Jones. The cook looked uncertain, wide-eyed and nervous as he took a step back. For just a moment, Jackson almost thought he had something to say. Bright Eyes, on the other hand, had far too much he wanted to.

The man stepped closer but Lisa made no move to back away. Jackson waited for her response. She was a strong girl now; his strong girl. This was no monster, no creature out for her blood. It was only a man.

The soldier tilted his head to allow a quick swipe of his hand over his hair in what seemed like an attempt to straighten it. Jackson took pleasure in the fact it was receding.

Yet Bright Eyes didn't seem to care one way or another, as he strode within breath-space of Lisa. Those eyes of his remained trained on her hand as though her stance made him uncomfortable. "Listen, sweetheart, you ain't goin' to need that…"

Jackson saw the motion to take the blade, but still she didn't move. Her eyes were fixed on the soldier with fear. She had looked at him with fear once, but never for herself. Not like this.

Lisa jumped at the pull on her arm but didn't resist and Jackson moved her only enough to step between them and place some distance.

"I suggest that you step back a minute and keep your thoughts to yourself. She's not interested," Jackson stated, calmly interrupting as he let the phrase hang in the air with a glance at the emblem on the man's uniform. He looked back up with not so much as a grin. He stared back with icy daring. "…Corporal."

"Someone's gone and found himself a pair of balls," Bright Eyes snickered and Number Two chuckled at the remark. "You jealous that I'm the one with the gun, cabana boy?"

Jackson's head tilted in observation, almost annoyance, over the petty name. His jaw tensed as he darted a glance around at each of the other men.

It was a lot to take on at once. Nearly all of them were here, a good six or seven, most enjoying the taunting sport that had presented its self. Keplan was absent but Jackson wasn't about to question small miracles.

They were waiting for action, something, anything that didn't end in death and bloodshed. A good bit of old-fashioned jabs seemed like the next best thing.

"Did you see the way I pissed over those bastards out there?" The soldier continued and Jackson brought his sights back to the target.

Lisa moved under his touch and he realized that he still held her arm. He let go reluctantly.

"You couldn't do half the job, I'd wager."

"Someone feeling the need to overcompensate? Huh?" Jackson taunted, raising an eyebrow with a sly smile that widened when he saw the man had ceased to be entertained. "Get a gun in your hand and you're at the top of your game but once you're that high the only place to go is down."

"Jim." Lisa's voice quietly pleaded, but he would have none of it.

"And what, you think you can do better? You and your little…bat." This earned a laugh from more than a few. "Takin' pointers from the American, have you? Mr. Little Leaguer over here."

"You don't want to test me."

"You're right," Bright Eyes agreed with a shrug. He looked back at Lisa briefly before confronting the barrier again. "I'd much rather waste my time with the girl, so if you don't mind…"

He took hold of Jackson's shoulder in an attempt to push him away, surprised at the firm resistance.

"Yeah…I do." The movement was smooth as Jackson swept his foot behind the soldier's leg, causing him to crash hard to the floor.

The others scattered back in surprise, yelps of encouragement rang and Bright Eyes rose to face the threat. His face was enraged with embarrassment. It would make him sloppy. Dangerous, but sloppy.

He lunged with a blow that hit Jackson in the stomach. Immediately Jackson threw himself back at the soldier, with jaw clenched and kneeing into the groin. It wasn't as effective as he would have liked hitting just to the side, but Bright Eyes still growled with pain and slammed his elbow down on the back of Jackson's neck.

Jackson had never been one for a straight up brawl and his back shivered with tingling pain. The soldier continued to push down on the spot, bringing Jackson to his knees despite the protest.

"Stop it!" Lisa's voice was piercing despite the commotion and Jim felt his body pause in response.

This was exactly what he had not wanted to happen. It was dangerous, to let her in this close, where she could distract him. But it seemed that sense was on her side as he saw a very displeased figure approaching from down the hall.

"Mitchell!" The Sergeant, Farrell, interrupted the fight, but his voice went unabided in the mayhem.

"Easy, tiger…" The opponent obviously thought that Jackson couldn't fight back, not that he would stop with purpose. Without the resistance it was easy to be held down, crouched on all fours.

It was demeaning and Jackson refused to look at Lisa. He could have fought back. It wasn't that he didn't know how.

_It's not time. You aren't Him. Not yet._ Why couldn't he tell her? What could he have to lose? He was about as ready to answer that question as he was to tell her what he knew.

"You don't want to go pickin' a fight with me, son!" The soldier, now reclassified as Mitchell, remarked and Jackson bit his tongue.

He couldn't see what happened from his angle, but a moment later he was released and Mitchell backed away, moaning with a hand to the back of his head.

"Sergeant Farrell!"

West sounded furious and Jackson staggered to his feet, making a note to thank Farrell for the gesture someday. The hall grew silent as the Major approached, inspecting the situation. He turned at last to the injured soldier who was continuing to baby his head.

"Mitchell, first action on."

The words escaped with pained hesitation, "We've secured the perimeter, sir."

"Then get back to it." West ordered before turning to the other men. "Jones. Bedford. Go with him."

He glanced over the remaining soldiers and Jackson knew exactly what West noticed.

"Where's Keplan?"

"Still out front, sir," Soldier Number Two explained. "Keeping an eye."

"At least someone is doing their job," the officer remarked with agitation. He looked to Farrell with hard features. It was an uncomfortable sort of moment. "Sergeant."

"Sir," the man spit the title back with bitterness.

"Clear the bodies off the lawn."

It was a job more fitting of the Privates and they were both aware of it. However, there were no smart remarks, no complaining. He was a soldier, and his commanding officer had given an order. There was a polite nod tainted with a grimace as Farrell moved on to his task.

The Major turned to the remaining men next, not to leave them unpunished. "The rest of you go with him."

It was only when they were out of sight that he turned to Lisa with a bow of the head. "My apologies."

She didn't know what to make of the gesture and decided to keep quiet, instead turning to Jackson with a sympathetic look that quickly got under his skin. Lisa seemed to sense his discomfort and nodded to the two men without a word before leaving the scene in the direction of Hannah's room.

Jackson didn't need to hear the 'thank you' to understand it had been given.

"She looks tired," West commented before facing the other man. "Drink?"

The Major didn't wait for a reply, turning his back as he walked away. He was making a habit of the inconsideration and Jackson was doing his best to control his anger that was quickly flaring. Taking a moment to rub his neck, Jackson winced at the pressure before following through the steep halls.

The destination wasn't far. It was a foyer room to the side of the main hall that was lined with boxes and crates like most other nooks in the mansion. A large fireplace lit the expanse and Jackson could only assume that the Major used it recently as the flames were still brilliantly fed.

West moved to an open table that had been scattered with the recent plunders. Jackson saw the scotch and fought to contain his emotions. The stranger had no right! Never-the-less the Major went on to pour a glass.

He took Jackson's silence to mean the guest wasn't interested, and he would be correct.

"We're very grateful for your protection," Jackson started, mind working quickly to form the best way out of the situation. And he had the feeling it would need to be done quickly. "But if we're going to stay here I can't…"

He was coming up empty.

"Who have you killed?" West interjected with the bold remark that took Jackson by surprise.

"Why would you think I've killed someone?" he questioned defensively. How much did he know? He couldn't have known. Yet Keplan was here…

"The question really should be, why wouldn't I? You wouldn't be alive now if you hadn't killed someone." The man had a point. He sipped the liquor with leisurely indulgence.

Jackson cursed himself for the over-analyzation. The least he could do would be to put his efforts into something more productive. It was very unlike him but everything about this house and the situation had him on edge. It was a dangerous game to be playing. Normally he wouldn't turn down a challenge, but his life wasn't the only one at stake.

"I've killed a boy." Jackson offered, hoping to get West to talk. It seemed like he was ready for it.

"A child." West confirmed without question, hardly seeming surprised.

Jackson answered regardless and with uncertainty, "Yes."

"But you had to. Otherwise, he'd have killed you." He was trying to make a point, and the information made Jackson wary.

"Survival," West continued. "I understand."

He paused with another sip, refusing to look Jackson in the eye. The firelight could have worked several ways, warming up the atmosphere, enhancing romance with the right company. But here, with this officer in front of him and red flickers across his skin, it only made Jackson more anxious than he would like.

"I promised them women."

For a moment Jackson thought he heard wrong; hoped he had heard wrong.

"What?"

"Eight days ago." West looked to him then and Jackson knew he had heard correctly. "I found Jones with his gun in his mouth. He said he was going to kill himself because there was no future."

_Yes, he thought of it all on his own because you make it so easy to have a fucking sense of confidence in this hellhole_!

"What could I say to him?" West sighed with reluctance. "We fight off the infected or we wait for them to starve to death and then what? What do ten men do but wait to die themselves?"

"I moved us from the blockade, I set up the radio broadcast, and I promised them women." The Major put down his glass, fully expecting a reaction. "'Cause women mean a future."

He didn't seem to know what to make of Jackson as the man remained still, gaze fixed on the Major with observance.

Jackson, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was dealing with. The man was mad, and he was doing nothing but making a bad situation worse. He had been right with his first assumption. They were far from safe in this house.

"I'm not going to let you touch them," he informed the officer calmly.

"What makes you think you are being given a choice?"

Jackson wasn't a man who panicked by nature. In fact, he commonly took his time with everything in his life both work and personal; avoiding mistakes. On that plane back in the States he had, for the first time in a long time, let his emotions take control. He had fallen hard, even before she first looked him in the eye. It only became worse after Lisa accepted his invitation to the Tex Mex.

Now, here he was, standing before a man who could talk about a disgrace as easily as if it were an afternoon tea and for once, the infamous Jack Donovan didn't know what his next plan was. So he ran; out the foyer doors and down the hall to their bedroom.

Major Henry West was in no hurry to follow. He knew exactly what Jackson was trying to do, but he was confident nothing would come of it as he walked to the doorway himself. They had nowhere to go.

_**++&&&&++**_


	17. Foolish Antics

_**++&&&&++**_

"Are they in?"

Lisa closed the door behind her, turning to the girl with the type of smile she had practiced for years. "No. We're going to be just fine. The soldiers are out there now, but it's already taken care of for the most part."

"Where's Jim?" Hannah questioned again, sitting back down on the twin bed. She was feeling anxious and Lisa couldn't blame her. It was like looking at herself.

"He's having a talk with the Major," Lisa answered, crossing the room and storing the machete next to her things on the floor. It was going to be a long night.

She opened her pack just enough to see the pills that were situated so close to the top. The chances of getting any sleep without them were slim. Still she closed it back up, untouched and wondered if Jim would be long.

"I don't like him," Hannah commented and went on to clarify. "…the Major."

Lisa couldn't help but agree, "I know how you feel."

She didn't sit, instead taking position near the window once again. It was still bright outside, the lights were up and running. They could claim the grounds were clear all they wanted; it still wouldn't make her feel better.

"Not exactly what we were hoping for," Lisa turned back to Hannah with a comforting smile. "That shower was nice though, wasn't it?" There wasn't much of a response, so she continued. "I don't think my hair's never been that gross."

"Do you love him?"

The question came out of nowhere and Lisa was left with an expression of disbelief, the slightest of smiles escaped more from confusion than amusement. Of all the questions to come out of that girl's mouth, had this really been the one on her mind?

Hoping she had heard wrong, Lisa finally found a response, "Excuse me?"

"Do you love him?" Hannah repeated with all seriousness.

"Jim?" Lisa was beginning to feel more like just another teen in high school, being asked about the latest crush. Years didn't seem to matter sometimes, despite the desperate struggle to escape them.

Hannah rolled her eyes at the remark. As if anyone else could have been the subject of her question.

Lisa continued with her stammering as she tried to find the words to explain what even she didn't know, "I don't….I mean…"

Hannah leaned back with expectation and gave a faint smile, the first all night. "I saw you both kissing."

Her cheeks were flushed, Lisa knew. Attraction? Obviously. Love?

"I don't love him," she finally answered truthfully. How could you love someone you didn't even know? "It's complicated."

It was such a simple word that summed up the mixed emotions she dealt with at every turn. There were so many aspects to the man who she, as he had put it so bluntly, had not even known for a day. One moment he was passively sitting in the backdrop, and the next showing qualities that were questioningly familiar. But were they really that bad?

"That's a lame answer."

"Yes,"Lisa smiled teasingly at the remark with arms crossed, trying her best to look stern. "Well it's all your getting for now."

Lisa relaxed, taking a seat at the sill. There was a drawn sigh as she looked down to her fingers. The acrylic had long since come off and the cuticles were looking shabby.

"If you really want to hear the details, I'll tell you." Lisa looked back to the interested teen. The girl was involved now, "I think it's only right that you know, but not tonight. Maybe in a few days, once things have calmed down a little."

"What if it never does?"

It was a question that Lisa had asked herself many times over. For a long while, that would have been her immediate response. With the things she had seen, people lost, and here she was being the optimistic one. Perhaps it was just denial. Or perhaps, having Jackson come back into her life had given her something akin to hope.

_What if he never remembered_? She shirked the question. He would. In face she almost wished it would be sooner rather than later.

What she needed was Jackson back, in spite what else that could mean. He would know how to handle these men, not just put on some show for her benefit. Wasn't that what he did? Manage things? Whatever that meant.

She thought about his lips.

She was tired of playing the schoolgirl. If he was interested, she wanted all of him, not some copy that knew half of the story. She blamed the situation. She was lonely, and he was there. The last thing she needed out of the mess was a relationship, and she was certain that one with Jackson would end badly. Wasn't she?

The imitation was letting her get close, with false confidence and trust. Jim was drawn to her, but he couldn't possibly understand why. If he did, things would be much different. He probably could sense it and that was why he stopped asking questions.

They both needed each other even from the very beginning but it didn't make it right.

"It will." It had to. She was tired and her thoughts ran wild.

"You don't have to take me with you," Hannah offered, not knowing what to make of the sudden quiet. "If you think it would be better just the two of you again."

"Lisa!" The sound of her name came muffled outside the room, but the woman passed it off as nothing. Hannah actually thought the two of them could leave her? After everything?

"We are not leaving you," she clarified sternly. "Even if we…"

The thought was interrupted with the burst of the door. It was Jim, who didn't waste a moment after seeing them both together.

"We have to go." He spoke clearly, firmly, with a panic in his eye that Lisa couldn't ever remembering seeing before.

Jackson didn't wait for them to make up their minds, reaching to grab Hannah by the hand with little gentleness. She was pulled off the bed, only managing a brief look of question to Lisa before the yanking motion forward.

Lisa followed quickly as Jackson made his way for the door, dragging the girl behind. "Jim, what is it?"

"We don't have time," he stated, moving down the hall. He wasn't heading to the front entrance. There was never a pause, rapidly watching around for any movement. All they had to their advantage was a head start. "Let's go."

"What is it, Jim?" She tried again.

"This is not the time, Leese," he hissed, refusing to turn around. He was making a line for the drive at the side of the estate where they recalled last spotting the cab. Lisa instantly regretted leaving her weapon behind.

The halls were quiet with the exception of their footsteps. They would have been an easy target if the men weren't involved in assigned tasks, and the doorway wasn't far. Only a little further to go.

He made a mistake then, with adrenaline running high. Jackson rounded a bend just a moment too fast. He didn't catch the motion, didn't see the figure standing just inside the shadows. But the man had been waiting for him expectantly.

It was an easy strike, the momentum of Jackson's speed assisting in the failed escape. He was aware of the gun flying out into his way but had no time to stop before it hit him hard in the jaw. He fell hard to the ground, losing his grip on the girl's hand.

Jackson wanted to tell them to keep running. It was a hard task to complete when the world was spinning.

"You're getting sloppy, Jack," the attacker observed with a smirk.

Jackson's head throbbed from his sprawled position on the cold floor. He never wanted Keplan's face to be the last thing he saw, but nothing seemed to be working out the way he wanted lately. The butt of the gun fell once more and everything went black.

_**++&&&&++**_

There was shouting, Jackson could make out that much, and the pain in his head and side, a few other points that were sure to be bruises at a later time if not already.

"You can't do this!"

Farrell's voice rang loudly and Jackson looked up. The Sergeant was standing over him, armed and defensively swinging his aim around the room. His attention was far from the man on the ground.

"I won't let you do this again!" he continued, and Jackson struggled to glimpse the situation.

Soldiers surrounded them, all with weapons drawn and anger in their features. Jackson licked his lip, tasting blood and resisted the urge to wince at the sting.

And then there was Lisa, clutching to a very frightened Hannah, both confused and helpless. It was a term he was reluctant to use, but Lisa wasn't stupid.

It had been one thing, when he held her bare throat under his grasp, or lunged with prideful anger. It was the 'pathetic' that had set him off that day. But he didn't have it in him to kill her; he never had. But this? These men weren't out for her pride.

Lisa watched the scene before her with livid fear as she tried to keep her distance. She was resourceful, but there were too many guns to risk the girl in her arms. Jackson tried to move but his head rang with protest.

West chose that moment to come into sight, stepping closer with his spotless boots and bending down into a crouch to bring his face close. His elbows rested on his knees and his eyes almost shone with regret. But almost would never cut it, in Jackson's opinion.

"I wanted to give you a chance. You can be with us." It was a false option. West already knew Jackson's thoughts on the matter, but it almost could have been taken for politeness in offering. "But I can't let them go."

Jackson's only reply was an angry glare, jaw tight as he tried to contain his words. He could still taste the blood and from this position speaking would do none of them any good. He could only pray they wouldn't shoot him on site.

"Okay, Jim," the Major said with a calm nod of finality before looking away. West had been given his answer. "Okay." He stood and turned to Keplan with a nod. "Him too."

Somewhere in the mix, Farrell had been disarmed, still standing with a single rifle aimed at his head. There was no chance of him assisting the situation.

West turned away without so much as a look behind. He had washed his hands clean and Jackson was about to be handed over to the mob. There was a click of the rifle that came to rest by the prone man's head. He tilted his chin just enough to look down the barrel before bringing his gaze up to meet the armed soldier.

"Long live the Queen, eh?" Jackson muttered scornfully, earning another kick in the side. They had long forgotten their duty.

He could hear Hannah began to cry again and the smile that he had been forcing fell quickly.

"They should go," Jackson mentioned to the closest soldier.

He could feel a trail of blood dripping down his face and he could only imagine how he looked. The last thing they needed was to see him fall. _Keep it smart_.

"I don't think West would want them tired out before tomorrow." _Just a little bit longer_, Jackson pleaded. He just needed enough time to clear his head and figure out an escape. He refused to consider anything less.

The soldier reflected on it with a thoughtful expression that only made him come across as ignorant, but Mitchell protested. "No, I think they should stay. See what happens when someone crosses us."

"But the Major had said we ought to make them comfortable for the night," Jones added in a nervous tone.

"I think we could manage that," Mitchell grinned, stepping closer to the two girls. He jerked his head back to Jones with a nod for attention, sights never leaving the pretty faces. "What you think, Jones? You take the young one? I'm sure we can find ways to make them _very_ comfortable for the night."

"You know that's not what the Major has planned," Keplan interrupted and reached down, taking Jackson by the shirt and hauling him to his feet. "We are all gunna go, have a good night's sleep. Now, go do your job and take them to holding. We'll deal with it in the morning."

Keplan pushed him towards Mitchell and the soldier took Jackson roughly by the arm. Despite the lesser rank of 'Private' held by Keplan, Mitchell seemed to catch on it wouldn't be wise to question him. And so did the others.

The two women were taken down the hall to what would be their cell for the evening. Jackson attempted to look back, just for a moment, and was surprised to meet Lisa's eyes. They were talking to her, motioning back to the rooms, but she still only held Hannah closely in protection.

Before they finally pulled Jackson out of sight, he threw her a smile.

_**++&&&&++**_


	18. Underestimating Limits

_**++&&&&++**_

The morning light pierced the window with painful cheeriness. Jackson wasn't sure if it was the sun or the chatter that brought him back out of sleep, but either way it wasn't welcomed.

He was stiff; wrists fastened securely to a cold, broken radiator. The floor was unfinished, with a crude mix of concrete and dirt. He spotted the recent stains of blood (probably his own) but most appeared to have dried over through the early morning hours.

He had fought unconsciousness most of the night, refusing to let his eyes droop as he worked at the simple rope binding. But it was thick, professionally knotted, and eventually exhaustion and pain won over. At least for a short time. Jackson remembered the sun just peeking over the tree line before his eyes finally closed.

"…see that's what they're doing only a few miles from here…"

Farrell's voice became more clear and Jackson wondered if the man knew he had been asleep. Or if he even cared. Jackson's was to the Sergeant and he tried to reposition himself to see the fellow prisoner.

"…on the other side of the Atlantic. The Chosen Land."

What the hell was he blabbering about?

"I want the fuckin' Eden. They're sittin' in their beds, fucking their wives…"

Jackson could see him now, tied to a second radiator that seemed only slightly more beat up than his own. Could he have escaped that one? He wondered. He doubted Farrell had the sanity to even try.

The man's voice raised again and Jackson had the feeling he missed some of the speech, for what little it mattered.

"…leave yet. Because he won't let us fuckin' leave yet because he has gone insane!"

In the light Jackson could see his restraints easier, but there was still no edge to work with. No sharp end in sight that he could reach at least. Bound tightly, and another wrap that pulled him against the pole at his back. If only he could find a way to get loose from the device…

"Imagine," Farrell continued. "Just think about it. How could it cross the mountains and the rivers."

_The least expected always finds a way_, Jackson thought bitterly.

"Right now P.V.'s are planes and planes are flyin' in the sky and the rest of the world is continuing on as fuckin' normal," Farrell's tone dripped with instability. "Think, actually think about it. What would you do with a diseased 'lil island."

He had a strong argument, Jackson couldn't deny. Only another reason to escape as quickly as possible. But he didn't dream of acknowledging the fact to the man.

He didn't have the time for it and Farrell wasn't his concern. Jackson had too many questions of his own: Why hadn't Keplan killed them outright? Or Mitchell? How long would they play their little game and draw the women along?

"They quarantined us," Farrell moaned. "_There is no infection. Only people killing people,_" he continued in imitation from the lecture at dinner.

In a way, Jackson now saw the Major had been right.

"He's insane," the Sergeant cried out.

Whether they entered in response or just coincidence, the door opened and the last two people Jackson wanted to see stepped forward.

"It's time to go," Mitchell announced smugly with Jones following at his heels like a nervous little lapdog.

There were no others around, so Jackson assumed these were the lucky two. But it was only two.

They didn't bother trying to fiddle with the knots, instead pulling a knife and cutting away at the first loop and forcing the prisoners to stand, weapons ready for any protest.

"Come on, then," Mitchell ordered harshly. "We're going to have ourselves a nice, little walk."

It was painful at first, each step reminding Jim about the stiff muscles and ache in his neck. There were moments the tingle still trailed down his spine but they were few and far between now.

It was a lovely day, all things considered. The ground was moist and the greens were heightened. Even the birds sang cheerfully without any thought to the drama that played below. Jackson was glad when the mansion finally disappeared out of sight. They were getting closer and closer to the wall.

Jones had been characteristically quiet, with only the footsteps that crinkled on the damp leaves to mark their passing. The others were marked. But Jones…Jackson didn't know what to make of him. He wasn't a bad man, but there was a strong suspicion that if offered the chance would he take it.

Jackson liked to think of himself as forgiving. He stumbled, falling to the ground. He could feel the dampness seep into his clothes, but it was only a minor inconvenience.

If he were anyone else, just some poor bloke that had stumbled into their path, cooperated, would they have listened to a man struggling?

There was a soft gasp, asking for pity, "Please."

He hated playing the submissive role.

The blues were set only on Jones, but the soldier only looked away. He was a coward, through and through, and Jackson despised him for it. He looked between the two soldiers. It was only two. He had hoped to avoid it, but as it stood, there would be no exceptions.

"Believe me," Mitchell leaned down closer with an arrogant expression. "I'm not interested."

He stood back up to full height, leaning back in his stance with a smile, weapon held leisurely. It wouldn't have taken much to drop it from his hand. "See I'm going to have the petite one, with the pretty hair and cherry lips."

Jackson's eyes narrowed. The man was goading him, and he wanted to curse at how easy it was.

"She's more of a woman than I ever expected to see 'round these parts. And I'm going to make her scream."

"Mitchell…!" The Sergeant's tone was disgusted and sounded before Jackson even had a chance.

The soldier was going to pay. Mitchell was ignorant to the deadly gaze, instead fixing his attention on the Sergeant and faced the gun at eye level.

Farrell continued his warning. "This will only end badly for you."

"Move," Mitchell yelled with renewed anger. He was cracking and Jackson vehemently resisted the urge to comment.

"Come on, move!" Mitchell continued and Jackson's inclination was pacified with a rough kick into his thigh. "Get up you cunt, and fucking move!"

"Get up! Move your fucking ass," he spouted roughly again and Jackson struggled to his feet.

The rope around his wrists scraped at the skin, but he had felt tighter in the past. No use to dwell on past relationships, if Caitlin could have been called that. The image of the brunette didn't linger long.

Jackson continued to watch the trail, the markers obviously clear enough so the two soldiers would make it to and from with little effort. There would be no trouble. It was clear their destination by the stench and it didn't take long for the bodies to come into view.

As they stepped onto the open burial it took Jackson a moment to notice the two men were holding back, cautious to get too close. He looked back down at the corpses, noticing the signs of infection on the majority.

However, there were a few exceptions: a middle-aged man, a boy, who seemed clean even in death. Those rarities displayed a single shot each, and recent from the look of it.

"Come in you fuckin' pansies. Shoot me first." Farrell stood defiantly, begging for his death. Jackson wasn't about to give up so easily.

He stepped back as he could, careful not to trip. They were near the edge of the property, just along the inner wall. It was tall, lined with barb, but nothing beyond his capability.

"Just use the guns," Jones pleaded quite pathetically. Mitchell seemed to pay him no mind, stalking at some invisible line as if they were prey. "Just shoot them."

"Why?" The other soldier questioned and Jackson realized what he was doing. He was planning, accessing the best way to go about killing them. There would be no single shots today.

"Cause it's just fucking quicker." Jones insisted once again.

"Is that how you're going to let your Sergeant go out, Jones?" Farrell commented with bitterness. How many years in the British military? Only to end it from within his own ranks. Jim almost felt sorry for him.

"I'm going to fuckin' shoot them," the timid Private's voice quivered with hesitation. Jones was terrified.

He had the gun in his hands. One more, one moment of strength and he could have put Mitchell in his place. But Jones' hands were trembling and all he did was sit there like a passive lump, leeching off whatever scraps were tossed his way.

"No you won't," Mitchell ordered.

"You're going to stick me, aren't you?" Farrell was afraid, and he had right to be. He was sitting at the center of attention staring down the length of a bayonet. "…like a fuckin' dog!"

He spit defiantly at Mitchell, hitting the man impressively in the face. Mitchell swiped at the spittle, clearing his face with a flick of his wrist. A trigger had been hit and he started forward. "I'm going to do this…"

The gunfire came quickly and with no particular direction. Jones had just started shooting with no concept of a target, yet somehow they managed to successfully hit the Sergeant several times over. Blood splattered and Mitchell stumbled back, away from the man who collapsed into the damp soil.

"You stupid cunt!" He shouted, turning on his fellow soldier and pushing Jones down. He gripped the man's jacket, pounding his back against the base of a tree.

"I didn't…"

"What did you do?!" Mitchell barked, not willing to listen to any plea. He slammed him once more. "Do you want me to kill you, cause I will fucking kill you!"

He backed off only enough to point the gun at his fellow man. Jones turned his head away from the object in fear, eyes widening when he met Jackson's.

It was the opportunity Jackson needed, and he wasn't about to let it pass. He disappeared into the foliage just enough for Jones to catch the action.

It took some smart maneuvering, to circle around close, but he dove back down to hide against the cold form of the dead. The distraction had continued just long enough for the soldiers to do what he expected.

Mitchell took that moment to follow Jones' line of sight. "He's fuckin' gone!" He let go callously and stepped back, shouting. "Fucking get up!"

The Corporal kicked Jones until he stood. "Get up! Move! Move!"

They followed as Jackson hoped, and soon they were running in the direction they assumed he had fled.

Once the shouting came clearly well enough away, Jackson took the chance to push himself up off the ground. He ran. It was something he had always been a natural at, in one direction or the other. So long as it got him what he wanted it didn't matter.

Jackson heard the shooting, wild and desperate, but only paused once he reached the wall. He pressed his back against a tree, careful not to give his position away, but they had yet to come into sight. Looking back up at the distance, it was much more intimidating up close and the wire would be a vicious obstacle.

Within moments he had removed his shirt and it hung between his arms, trapped by the rope.

Jackson had never considered himself Houdini, instead thought of it more like very brief similarities to Copperfield. His looks for example, Although Jackson always thought of himself as much more stunning. He accredited it to his eyes.

He lunged for the tree, jumping enough to get a good footing against the trunk to push him back against the wall. The shirt snagged as predicted and he was able to get enough hold to grip the edge and pull himself to the top. It ripped under the wire and he was glad for it, tearing at the seam until it came free. He would need something much more effective for his wrists however.

The noise from the soldiers rang closer, so Jackson stopped trying to free the shirt, still tangled amongst the barbs. It provided a cushion as he stepped over and dropped down the other side.

The landing was much easier and Jackson remained crouched at the bottom, careful to make no further sound and waiting for confirmation that no unintended eyes caught his departure.

_There's no more time for screw-ups, Jimmy Boy_. _Let's do what we do best_…

Jackson stood quickly, and ran into the trees. He could feel a good bruise or two that stung with complaint, but they were easily ignored in the heat of the moment. He had a destination and there was no doubt someone would take the bait before the day was through.

"Just keep shooting!" Mitchell ordered furiously and Jones responded with a mess of scattered aims and blood as he hit whatever bodies were exposed on the open ground. What made it worse was he couldn't even look, closing his eyes for most of the targeting.

When they did open, Jones caught sight of the snagged material that littered the barbwire lining at the top of the wall. At first, he couldn't figure out what it was, squinting to be sure he saw things right.

"What is that?!" he pointed and Mitchell looked up.

Somehow the escapee had managed to jump it, although how, one could only guess. Either way, the Corporal didn't seem concerned. He was confident even.

"Relax, he's over the fucking wall."

Mitchell smiled, pleased at the events. It would have done better to do the deed himself, but he had confidence the man's fate would be far worse than what he could ever manage.

He motioned for Jones to leave it alone and started to walk away, "With no vehicle and no shirt? He's dead."

_**++&&&&++**_


	19. Pawns

_**++&&&&++**_

The doors had been locked securely, trapping the two women in the guest room. It was not the same one as earlier or Lisa would have found a number of things to occupy her time. Add in the security of her weapon. She wondered if they had confiscated it yet, or if it was just lying there, forgotten.

There had been no sleep over the night, in her case at any rate. Hannah had gotten an hour or so at least, held close. It reminded Lisa of how young she still was, for all her adult moments.

The girl was terrified, upset. If she had been the Hannah's age there was no telling how she would have handled it.

There was little in this new room to help and the walls echoed with any movement, let alone conversation. So the pair remained silent.

_Leese_, he had said. Jim had never called her that before. And when he did it passed without hesitation or contemplation, and she had simply accepted it.

Had his accent changed? She really couldn't remember. Instead the name on his lips flooded her thoughts and she wished he were there to ask.

He had smiled, in a way that only Jackson could have pulled off. Blood had been dripping and she could have sworn there was a bruise forming at his temple. How long? He had been making a fool of her. And yet…there was something in that smile. It reminded her of hope. And warning.

Lisa stroked Hannah's hair absently and the teen continued to sleep during the early morning hours.

The sun had been out briefly, though the only window to the room didn't offer much in the way of a view from its high position. Now, the pattering of rain hit the glass and rang though the bare walls. Almost bare walls, she should have said, turning to the single mirror against one wall. The oval-shaped glass shimmered at the corner with reflected light.

Lisa shuffled the sleeping girl out of her arms and Hannah seemed to be on the verge of waking because of it.

"Shhh…" Lisa whispered as calmly. "I'll be right back."

That seemed to be enough for Hannah and she stilled under the touch, happily lost to unconsciousness once again. Lisa stood, eyes settled on the reflection as she crossed the room, intent to pull it from its perch.

There were dark circles under her eyes and her skin pale. What she wouldn't give for a touch of foundation.

Lisa took the mirror off and over to the bed, laying it face down on the sheet before scraping at the paper backing with the remnants of her nails.

_Come on_! She didn't dare speak the words aloud and worried that even her task at hand could be overheard, eyes darting every so often to the doorway. There was no sign they had heard. So she continued until the paper gave way and then eased the backing off with a smile.

Lisa looked up to a wide-eyed Hannah and quickly put a finger to her lips. She motioned to the pillow and the teen handed it over willingly. Within a moment Lisa had pulled the glass from the frame and hid the remaining evidence under the mattress.

The mirror itself she saved, laying the pillow on top and holding her breath. They both watched the door.

The woman brought her elbow down quickly and the glass shattered beneath the muffled cushion. Seven years didn't seem so long.

The two froze, watching for any sign of entry. It was a slow minute, but no one came.

Lisa removed the pillow, letting out a sigh of relief and examining the broken pieces before selecting a nicely jagged one of the bunch. It scraped her finger and she pulled back, sucking the newly released blood. It was a stupid move. But she didn't linger, pulling off layers of shirts until she came to a thin undershirt.

With the cloth removed, she covered herself back up and snagged a hole in the seam. It pulled away easily enough and she wrapped it protectively around her hand before taking the glass once more.

Hannah took the other piece from her. One look and Lisa knew she could stop the girl about as easily as she could stop herself. One final toss and the bed sheet covered the leftover glass. The only thing left to do was wait.

The soldiers didn't make it last long, and the door opened with a crash of renewed laughter. They had obviously been having a great morning, which made her heart sink. Lisa remained in place, pressed against the wall to the side and just out of sight.

"Rise and shine, lovelies," the first soldier barked with gun at ease around his shoulder. There was no reason to be on guard. After all, they were only female.

They never saw her until she lashed out. Lisa tried for the neck, knowing full well she would only have one shot, but he was shorter than she expected and the glass sliced across his jaw instead. It was an ambitious move, and this time she had been trying to go for a kill. He stumbled back, cursing.

"You little bitch!"

She didn't hesitate, trying once again against her better judgment and Hannah rushed forward into the fray. The second soldier had been expecting it though and easily disarmed the weapon from the girl's hand.

Lisa's soldier growled before punching her solidly in the stomach. It hurt like hell and she had to gasp from the loss of air. He was holding back. Even with that fact he managed to gain control, pressing her against the wall and holding her arm away to prevent further risk.

He was stronger than she had thought. They always were.

She felt pride at the damage. A gash ran under his chin and the blood spilt onto her shirt as he knocked the glass from her hand.

"I'm fuckin' bleedin'!" he yelled angrily as Lisa struggled to get free. She had become twisted just enough so she couldn't get a good enough kick.

"It's only a scratch, Davis," the other man scorned, having won control over the teen much sooner. His hand roughly plunged into Hannah's hair, pulling her face upward. The gun was raised with little effort, pressing it against her head. She yelled out, but there was no relenting.

The blond soldier turned back to Davis who was still struggling to get Lisa under control. "You have a gun, idiot. Learn to use it."

Davis had shifted enough for Lisa to get a good look and she immediately froze, eyes fixed on the captive girl. What was she thinking? She could have gotten them both killed. Where did they have to go? She felt her lip tremble.

"Good," the second soldier commented. His hair was hardly even disheveled. "Now that we've got your attention, the Major would like a word."

This time, Lisa didn't resist as Davis grabbed her arm tightly and pulled her from the room.

As announced, the commanding officer was waiting at the bottom of the staircase. It wasn't a pleasant sight to see the surrounding pack of men.

West got a good look at Davis, with the wound still dripping down his neck and into the fabric below. The sight must have been interesting: two 'strong men' having to hold the two petite forms so aggressively.

"Any problems, Keplan?" West questioned.

"Not anymore, Sir," the blond responded.

Davis pushed Lisa forward, down the final couple of stairs until she stood in the midst of accusing eyes. Hannah followed and Lisa pulled her straight into her arms. The girl was shaky, but her eyes remained hard and fixed on the Major.

"I want to see Jim," Lisa announced with determination. Dead, or alive, she needed to see him. Her lips tightened as she examined the situation. It didn't take a genius to know they were in trouble. She turned to catch Davis' hungry eyes on her breasts.

"I'm afraid that's not an option at this point," came West's voice with no sound of apology. Lisa turned and took a cautious step back, but there was little ways to go.

"Forget about him," West continued.

"I'm afraid that's not an option," Lisa snapped, but West didn't seem amused.

"Than it will only make things harder."

"Where is he?"

The front doors opened, exposing the hall to the roaring storm outside and West smiled, taking the opportunity to ignore the question. "Ah, here come my boys."

Mitchell strode forward with a displeased frown and Jones wasn't far behind.

"Report."

"Jones finished the job," Mitchell remarked with a toss of his head to the mellow soldier.

"Both of them?" Keplan questioned skeptically. His gaze darkened as he took in the appearance of the two men and Lisa noticed.

Mitchell grimaced at the tone. "That's what I just said, wasn't it?"

"I'm curious, Jones," Keplan turned to the secondary soldier. Jones couldn't quite seem to look at any of them straight. "Did you have both eyes open this time?"

"Keplan," West warned before redirecting his attention back to Mitchell. "Are you certain they are both dead?"

Lisa felt sick.

"Yes, Sir." was the unhesitant answer.

"Oh, God," Lisa whispered, feeling weak. But Hannah had begun to cry, now nothing more than a limp form in her arms. Lisa shook her head in denial. It wasn't possible.

"No need to get all upset, girly," Mitchell stepped closer and Lisa tried to move away. "We'll take real good care of you here, won't we boys?"

This earned a laugh all around.

Keplan refrained himself to a simple smile, reaching forward to nudge Lisa's top with the end of his rifle. "Looking a little rough around the edges," he observed, looking back at West. "…don't you think?"

"I guess we might have some work to do," the Major agreed, looking the two over undecidedly. "Now, the first thing we're going to have to do is make you a little more presentable."

Lisa couldn't stop Hannah's cries, and they were being examined like cattle. _They_. It wouldn't be just her.

"It so happens that the lady of the house had an extensive wardrobe…" West explained.

_He wants us to play dress-up. Like this is some damned whorehouse_.

"No," Hannah tried to refuse but there was no interest in her objections.

"Which she certainly has no use for…" the man continued.

"You can't do this to Hannah!" Lisa yelled, her voice quivering.

She wanted to beg, plead for them to leave the girl alone at least. She could handle it. She had been soiled before…but Hannah? The girl didn't deserve it, not after everything.

"Go to the master bedroom,"West nodded to a soldier Lisa couldn't name. "Pick out a wide selection."

"Yes, Sir!" He left with a lively stride.

"No…" came a whispered appeal and Lisa hugged the teary-eyed girl closer in response. She felt helpless, and she hated it. "No."

West never met their pleading faces, careful to avoid them at all costs. His lips were turned down in a solemn manner as he walked away. Lisa couldn't look at him anymore, disgusted and her last vision of him was framed against the rain in the open doorway.

"Ladies…" Mitchell smirked with an exaggerated bow of farewell before leaving. He was nothing but a hypocrite. A crude, fascist, slime of a man. Lisa clenched a fist.

"Come on," Keplan motioned them forward, herding them away from the other men and back up the stairs. No doubt they would be provided room service. Lisa shuttered.

"Comin' Davis?" Keplan threw the offer down, but the other man only grunted.

"You can take care of that one," he gingerly touched at the wound and winced. "I'm gunna go get primped up a bit. I expect her to make it up to me later!"

"Pansy," Keplan hissed under his breath and they continued up, alone.

She didn't wait for long, only until they were halfway up did Lisa question the man, "You knew him."

"Move it," Keplan said harshly, pressing the weapon into her back. "I don't know what you're talking about."

There was no reason for him to even give her that much of an answer.

"Don't lie to me!" She yelled, louder than intended and a few of the straggling soldier's looked up. Keplan ignored their stares.

"Someone's been spending too much time around Jack," he said quietly and a little less gruff.

"Why wouldn't you help him?"

They reached the top, only feet from the doorway. The man still wouldn't look at her.

"We all play dangerous games." Keplan stopped outside of yet another room and opened the door. It was unfurnished, the bare wooden floors tainted with dust. He motioned them in. "There are always the kings and the pawns."

She wanted to know more. She wanted to know everything. Lisa brought Hannah in and they stood hesitantly in the center of the room.

She turned in an attempt for at least one more question. "So which was he?"

Keplan frowned with narrowed eyes. "He's dead. You tell me."

The door slammed closed and they heard the click of the lock as it went in place.

_**++&&&&++**_


	20. Alone with the Shadows

_**++&&&&++**_

He was dead.

It seemed like such finality. It was more the shock than anything else. They were walking through some crazed nightmare and she had been foolish enough not to consider the possibility. Not really.

He was Jackson: Assassin, Head-Honcho, Manager of Things-Better-Left-Unspoken. There had always been something about him that stood out, even from that first moment he had grabbed that doctor's arm.

Who was she kidding? She had first noticed those blue eyes the moment he stepped into line, but a lady didn't stare.

It had always nagged her, thinking in the back of her mind that she might someday come across him again. He had lived, after all, if barely. But Lisa had never in her wildest dreams imagined finding him again in London.

His face had crossed her mind but only in memory. The kind that replayed over and over again in a way that made her wonder what was behind his eyes when he held her against that bathroom wall.

The whole thing was ridiculous. Somehow he had survived this long: weeks into the spread of infection, and she had let him get close to her. More than she had ever wanted to allow, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was all a lie from the beginning.

_No_. What good would it have done?

But she wouldn't cry. They had finally reached hope, protection…only to have it thrown in their faces. She could take a seat, wallow in self-pity and sorrows, but it would do neither of them any good now.

Hannah choked on her tears and Lisa came to her senses. Jackson wouldn't have wanted it like this. Not the Jackson she had come to know since London. Sometimes she could see him when she looked into Jim's eyes.

"Hannah…" Lisa began with a hushed tone, letting go of the girl enough to force her attention. "Hannah, look at me."

The teen responded with bloodshot eyes. The limited sleep hadn't helped with their situation. A cup of coffee would have done them both some good.

"Hannah, listen to me. We are going to get out of here, so I need you to calm down." The words scarcely helped but she noticed the girl try to get a hold of her breathing.

"That's it…breathe," Lisa encouraged again.

The seconds dragged by before Hannah risked a strangled question, "Where are we going to go?" It was despair. "This was it. This was our chance, and now Jim…"

"Jim wouldn't want us to sit on our ass," Lisa hissed. She didn't mean for it to be as harsh as it sounded and the crude word felt out of place on her lips. "I need you get it together, Hannah. I know you can do that for me."

It wasn't a request and Hannah nodded with acceptance. With the girl calmed, Lisa looked up at the window across the room. It was larger than the last, with more than enough room for them to get through. She left the teen alone, taking the window frame beneath her hand. The wood casing felt brittle with age and a piece chipped off.

It was raining outside; the drops were steady against the pane and oddly comforting in that it added to background noise. They wouldn't be able to hear the soldier's approach, but they couldn't be heard either. Lisa pushed it open and Hannah came closer.

There was a ledge that ran along the side of the building. It would be tight, but they just might be able to make it.

"Come on," Hannah started, immediately assuming it was the plan, but Lisa held her arm back. There was a chance it would be slippery, a dangerous move, but there was something else bothering her on top of it all.

Why did Keplan leave them alone in here after what they pulled? Especially with a clear exit at their fingertips.

He had wanted them to escape…or he was abnormally dense. Lisa expected it was option number one. But going out the window? The other men would be back any minute and it wouldn't give them much of a chance to get far.

"We have to hurry! What are you waiting for?" The girl whispered anxiously but Lisa only turned, wildly scanning the bare room.

She had always been fascinated by the idea of safe rooms and hidden passages that lined the structures of older buildings. Even secretly set time aside for History Channel specials, and now here she was, sitting in her very own personalized documentary.

"I have an idea," Lisa said as her mind wandered over the scene. "Search the walls."

"But the window…"

"No," she ordered sternly. Lisa was certain of it now: they would have no chance outside, not in this weather. Either she was right or they would have to figure out another plan once the soldier's had come back. She wasn't looking forward to the latter. "The walls."

The lighting wasn't very good and the rain was busy creating artistic glazes against the partially opened windowpane while the two women searched for the impossible.

Fingers traced the papered cage with increasing urgency, but it was worth it when hardly a minute had passed and the wall gave way beneath Lisa's hand. She didn't waste the time to smile.

_**++&&&&++**_

Keplan stood patiently outside the locked door. The sobbing had stopped for a while and there was nothing but the welcomed silence of rain hitting the roof as flashes of light shot across the hall.

The woman wasn't stupid, if the stories were accurate. In any case he would have a chance to test the theory shortly, he mused, as the other men returned with a pair of seductively red dresses slung over Bedford's arm. Of course. He wasn't surprised. It was probably their idea of romance.

"I'll take those…" he tried as sternly as was able. The attempt came too quickly and the soldier backed away with caution.

"Oh no," the man remarked with a snicker. "You're not going to be the only one to have a peek."

It was going to be that way then. "Fine. Take it up with the Major. But until you do, not one of you is going in and no one's comin' out. Is that clear?"

Privates Bell and Clifton were at his side with annoyed impatience. They were poor excuses for military. No discipline, no creativity, and certainly slow on the pick-up. The group of them could never be labeled as 'bright.'

"Look at you, all commandeering."

_If only you knew_.

"I'm following my orders," Keplan replied simply, hoping they would take it for an answer. They had already seen the lure, however, and their eyes were set.

"So are we," Clifton remarked angrily as he pushed his way past. Keplan would rather make them wait, but there was no reason to get violent about it. "Now open up!"

The soldier grabbed the keys rudely and the door gave way from his attempt. The sight brought them all to silence. The room was empty. The rain outside had turned at an angle and there had been enough time to drench the wall and surrounding ground with the chilled liquid.

"What the bleedin' hell happened to 'No one in or out!'?" Bedford's voice echoed around the stunned soldiers.

"You idiot!" Bell interjected, as though Keplan's mistake gave him some sort of authority. "They got out the window, everyone, move it!"

He ran down the hall with Clifton close at his heels. Bedford went to the window first, desperately searching what he could make out in the storm outside. He had little luck. "I don't see them!"

"Of course you can't see them, you dunce," Keplan growled, gripping his rifle defensively. "I'm going to inform the Major. Go! Start searching the other rooms!"

_**++&&&&++**_

"Couldn't we just stay here?" Hannah whispered in the dark. "Forever?"

"No, sweetheart," Lisa responded with the familiar endearment as they moved down the narrow, dusty passage. The old wood surrounded them and she couldn't help but wonder if this was what a coffin smelled like. "We have to get to the cab."

They turned at a cross, finding another door just down the end. There were no voices nearby, no movement, so Lisa took a chance. The door opened to an otherwise doorless room that Lisa couldn't remember from earlier. She made certain to close the passage behind them.

Both were tense, alert. They froze, ducking back behind a wall and the sound of footsteps came around the bend. Thankfully they avoided sight.

Once the pounding of feet had gone they made a dash for it, dodging down halls, in and out of rooms as they made their way the best they knew how. The front foyer seemed clear enough, they could finally see the exit while the men sounded occupied elsewhere.

Lisa ran, dragging Hannah close behind. A silent figure moved to their side, catching them entirely off-guard and a bolt of lightning flashed to expose the Major.

Hannah cried out in surprise, much louder than expected and Lisa felt the grip on her hand tighten painfully. Her own heart felt like it had stopped.

"I'm fairly certain you aren't supposed to be down here," West remarked, retrieving a pistol from his uniform. Lisa instantly thought they should have just continued running, but it was too late now. "…which makes this entirely uncomfortable for me."

He never touched them, only pointed the weapon easily and Lisa wasn't about to risk it. The other soldiers hadn't seemed to hear yet.

"Yes," Lisa started, placing herself between the officer and the teen. "I can only imagine how _uncomfortable_ you must feel."

West sighed tiredly and Lisa felt increasingly agitated. The man had no right to be tired. "I never wanted it to come down to this."

"So let us go!" Hannah cried out in vain.

"We all know that isn't going to happen," he flipped the safety off and motioned the two girls into the foyer. Neither moved. Shouts still rang through the halls of the large building. It would only be a matter of time before they came to report to the Major.

Sure enough, hardly a moment later, Keplan rounded the bend. His report stalled on his lips when he saw the two captives.

"I believe you lost something, Keplan." There was ice in the Major's tone and his expression gave no indication of anything otherwise.

Keplan stood quietly with narrowed eyes. Had he really expected them to get far? It was nothing more than a game of cat and mouse, and sooner or later, the cat would be expected finish the job.

"Take them back upstairs," West commanded with frustration. "You men wanted them, you take care of them. I'll have no part in this."

Lisa half expected him to wash his hands then and there for symbolism. He was worse than Pilate, he had direct control over the situation and still he gave in without a fight.

Keplan grabbed her arm roughly. If he took Lisa, Hannah would follow.

"I expected more from the famous Lisa Reisert," he whispered harshly into her ear.

Her reply was just as vicious, "Sorry to disappoint."

_**++&&&&++**_


	21. Evening Attire

_**++&&&&++**_

"They're all yours."

Bedford frowned as Keplan threw Lisa forward. She tried to pull away when he had taken her into his arms. His palms were damp but that didn't diminish his grip. Hannah yelled and struggled to help, but another soldier caught hold of her mid-step.

"That's right they are." Davis chimed in. His clothes were damp against Hannah's shirt and when she turned up to him there was a bandage clinging to his face at an odd angle. There had been a lot of shouting and cursing when Keplan started rounding the men back up as he held the two girls in tow.

"You going to live, Davis?" Keplan questioned, but Lisa sensed he wasn't all that concerned one way or another.

"No thanks to her," he said bitterly with a nod to Lisa.

Hannah tried to jerk out of his grasp, but failed pathetically. He winced before she realized she had bumped his neck with the back of her head. She hoped it hurt.

"Here, you can keep this one." Davis pushed her to the black soldier but his grip wasn't any lighter as he took her arm with a smile. Davis on the other hand, moved across the hall and pulled a chair away from the wall before having a seat.

None of them had any intention of moving into a closed room and even less of a chance to leave the two alone. There was no chance for decency now.

"So I'm plannin' on enjoying the show," Davis remkared. "You all can do the touchy-feely, I've had enough of her for today."

He leaned back with his gun brought to rest casually across his lap.

Bedford tossed one of the dresses to Bell. It was as if he had been given the 'okay.' "Come on now, girlie," he started to pull at her shirt as though she were some doll to be changed and she started to scream.

"Don't touch her!" Lisa yelled but Bedford only held her tighter, trying for her own shirt.

There was a distinct sound of ripping, but she didn't care. Her foot came down hard on his. There was no reaction though. Steel-toed shoes. She cursed and hit against his chest as good as she was able.

"Best not to fight it," a voice came from one of the men. She had been fighting for this long…

"We've got some prezzies for you…" Bedford started with a frown. "…and this is how you treat us?"

"Go to hell," she yelled as another man pulled at her shirt and managed to get it over her head. Lisa tried to bite, but they wore several layers. If she had nails, they wouldn't let her get close enough to do any damage.

Bedford grabbed her hair and a wrist. Clifton was close, leaning into her neck with a risky motion as he took in her scent. Despite the hand in her hair she threw her head against his and felt the world spin.

"Now…" Clifton backed away, holding his nose that had begun to bleed. "That's not very nice."

"You boys have fun," Keplan remarked as he turned to leave. Neither of the girls could see his face or they would have noted the displeasure. "My mood is spoilt."

"Wanker…" Davis commented as he leaned back in his seat, tilting the legs.

Bell let the dress in his hand fold out, examining the shape. "This one will look pretty on the girl. Like a right Prom dress, init it?"

"You like them young, Bell?" Hannah couldn't see who made the joke. She only heard the laughter and saw his face close to hers. She wanted to tear his eyes right out of his head.

"I like them wet." He grinned. "Sides, she isn't as young as all that." The soldier scanned her features in a way that made her squirm uncomfortably. She cried, yelling, but there was no one to hear. "Old enough to be out of the house, get a job…"

"I'm all about the experienced ones myself." Davis stood up from his place and stepped forward. "How about it… Leese, isn't it?" Where had he heard that name? It could have been coincidence. But he still had no right… "You want a…"

He got closer and she lunged with every bit of strength she could manage, and almost made it a few feet. They only laughed. Hannah was still crying as Bell managed to get her sweater off.

"Hannah!" She was failing, miserably. They were outnumbered, overpowered, and they were going to fail.

"No!" He was grabbing the teen's breasts now and the tears were falling.

Lisa tried to squirm under the grasp and her shirt finished tearing until it was nothing but a scrap hanging from her body. Bedford didn't waste time in removing even that bit and she tried to knee him in the groin. The only thing succeeded in doing was landing her a blow to the face.

"Hey! Watch it!" one man yelled. "We want them pretty."

"Stop it now," Bedford ordered. Lisa was losing, and the thought made her weak. Her jaw stung. "This will be over and done with before you know it. Just put on the dresses…"

"Maybe you expect to take only five minutes," Davis smirked from where he stood. The hall lit with a flash from the lightning outside. "If they want to make it last longer, I'm not going to complain!"

"These are expensive dresses…" Bell tried to explain, as though it would have any influence.

Bedford whispered into Lisa's ear, "Come on now, relax yourself…" His hold loosened just enough.

Lisa yanked herself from his arm with a cry and she escaped. If it could be called that. Her scar was exposed, jagged and screaming to the world. She was surrounded and there was no place to go.

"Lisa!" Hannah's voice quivered with fear, anger, everything Lisa had never wanted for her. The girl was her responsibility now and this was how she letting things play off.

Davis was standing back hesitantly, and with good reason. Bell had even paused as he watched the scene. Her gaze darted around at each one. Bedford wasn't about to offer her any leniency, so she turned her eyes to Clifton. He was young…apprehensive.

She was thankful Mitchell was absent from the attempt, or she imagined she would have never been allowed even this reprieve. _Think_…

They couldn't escape, not this night, perhaps not for a long time. And the men were going to take advantage of that fact as long as possible. They knew Hannah was young, from the very beginning, and for all their talk it still bothered some at least.

It was perhaps the only chance for the girl…

Lisa crossed the distance quickly and Clifton didn't know what to think. If it had been the other two they would have never let her approach like that, not after the fight she had put up. But as it was, luck was on her side and he let her take his face in her hands.

She tried to be gentle…the way he wanted it. Her eyes were closed when she pressed her lips against his and she could feel the hush that fell through the hall. She was disgusted.

_Make them believe it, Leese_, she told herself. His lips were tight, surprised. _Make them believe it or they will never listen_.

He didn't kiss like Jackson. Nothing about it seemed right but she pressed her body against his regardless. She could feel him respond, but forced her mind away, thinking, remembering.

The same pair of blue eyes haunted her and she remembered the feel of his fingers on her skin. Firm, smooth. Almost loving. She wondered what he would think of her if he saw.

Lisa removed her lips from the soldier, but stayed close. She looked up at him sternly, hand pressed to his chest. His heart rate was wild and she knew she had done well.

"Don't you think I'm all the woman you'll need?" Lisa said softly, making a point to lay a sensual edge to her words. She felt his gulp but he hesitated. "Let the girl go, for now."

"What kind of game is this?" Davis hadn't moved and he remained skeptical.

"You're right," She said louder so that all could listen clearly to her offer. Her eyes never left the soldier in front of her. "She's young…she wouldn't know the first thing to do."

"No…"

Lisa ignored Hannah's protests.

"Don't touch her," Lisa continued. "You'll have plenty of time for that when she's a bit older, if what the Major says is true. I'll make sure you won't go wanting."

She felt the bile rise and hoped she was hiding it well. Clifton was considering it, and from the continued silence she assumed the suggestion was worthy.

The sound was interrupted with the blare of a siren outside and they all turned to the window in surprise. It wasn't from the mansion…it was too far away for that. In fact, it sounded like it was coming from the blockade.

"Jackson." The name escaped her lips with urgent hope. It had to be, she wasn't strong enough to consider it could be anyone else.

_**++&&&&++**_

The Major's steps were deliberate and agitated as he came from the kitchens. Jones followed behind, trying to keep up with the long paces. The officer's expression held no sympathy as he passed the half-naked woman.

"He went over the wall!" Jones stammered as he tried to explain. It was no good, the Major was already angry at the lies. "We saw him, he's dead, Sir!"

"Silence, Jones!" West wouldn't even grant him the dignity of turning around.

There would be matters to be dealt with once the situation was back under control. Instead the Major's focus scanned over the state of affairs taking place in the hall. The voices had quieted at his approach, all holding him in regard, but it was clear what was occurring by the pale features of the two women and the manner of dress. Or lack of. West forced himself away from staring at the delicate material on Lisa's chest.

The two he needed chose that opportune moment to reenter from upstairs. It would have been a hard thing to miss his shout with the way the walls echoed.

"Keplan, you're with me. Mitchell, keep an eye on the base 'til I return." West scanned the others for the next competent victim, but the bandage made him grimace. "Davis, how's that wound?"

"Open, Sir." They both knew the complications that could occur.

"Not risking it." He turned to the next with a pointed finger of indication. "Bedford, you're driving!"

There was no hesitation as the soldier retrieved his weapon from a table and ran to the officer's side. "Yes, Sir."

West took one last look at the two girls and addressed Mitchell. "Get those two dressed already. I'll not have them running rampant like this is a brothel."

_**++&&&&++**_


	22. Losing Time

_**++&&&&++**_

The rain hit Jackson's skin with vicious strikes, but he wasn't worried about getting a chill. It was refreshing, if anything, and his blood was pounding in beat with the tarp nearby.

Jackson clenched the handle of the hand-crank alarm until his knuckles were white. Anything to take out the anger, but he was comfortably certain that a more satisfactory mark was on its way. He wondered which men on his list would be the first.

There was a slushy grumble of tires against the mud trail as the trucks approached and Jackson released the siren. The sound still echoed throughout the post as it continued to spin with its own momentum. It would stop eventually, but the damage was already done.

He expected the demons to show amply and the soldiers were just in time for the show. Jackson quickly moved into position.

Two trucks, but only three men.

Jackson pressed his foot against the sturdy grate. His breathing was calm. It had been a long time since he was the one in the field, but it really wasn't much different than riding a bicycle. Even still, he had to admit he was a little surprised when West himself stepped from the parked vehicles.

_Nice to see you getting your hands dirty_.

They were silent, and Jackson frowned when he saw Keplan. He had hoped to put that one off until later. The man didn't seem pleased about the order to separate, but there was little use to argue, not when the commanding officer gave the order.

Jackson's eyes were only for the stray brunette. The soldier was nervous: an easy target. The assassin pulled the knife from a pocket. One thing you could always count on military for was leaving shit around for the wrong hands to get a hold of it. It felt nice and solid in his hand.

He followed, feet quiet under the mask of rain, until the other two men were far enough from sight. The soldier was stupid enough not to look up.

Then the shooting began, from what sounded like the Major. Jackson wasn't surprised, wondering if the infected had already started to show up. The targeted soldier jumped, facing the sound with a defensive stance and Jackson leapt down, crossing the distance quickly.

As the man turned back there was only enough time to widen his eyes before the blade crossed his throat with a quick, solid thrust. He couldn't shout, or run.

The blood gurgled from the artery and Jackson smiled. _Counting_…

_**++&&&&++**_

"Bedford…Keplan?!"

It had only been a few minutes, but West couldn't let the feeling pass; the one that told him he should have killed this man before he ever had a chance to make it to the mansion. The outcome would have been the same. Instead he was on edge, letting the rain seep into his clothes until they made him shiver.

Now, he had the feeling they had made another mistake.

He was alone, not that it should have bothered him, except for the feeling it had all been planned. There had always been something behind Jim's eyes that screamed defiance, but he had never considered the possibility there was something more.

West's feet directed him back to the trucks with speed, scanning the walls, vehicles, anything that came into sight around him. He had heard shooting other than his own, but it had gone silent once again. There was a brief sense of relief when he saw his man, sitting in the driver's seat. At least Bedford had smarts enough to realize they needed to leave too.

"Bedford…"

He gripped the wet handle but he didn't need to open the door to see. The soldier stared, head pushed back against the seat and his front drenched with blood. The rain had washed away the gash across his neck. There had been enough time for the flow to stop.

West instantly turned, rifle armed, eyes wide and every muscle beckoning to his will. The kill had not been made by an amateur.

He could see nothing, and the gun went off. It was a panicked effort, but if there was anything that could bring the escapee into light he was willing to risk it. Keplan was still MIA and if he had gone down too…

"Keplan!" he tried once again, but there was no answer.

West stopped with a breath, turning to pull the corpse from the seat. Jim knew exactly how to break into the base. He fell into the seat, turning the key, but even the truck was against him. He felt under the steering, hand clutching a mass of exposed wiring.

"Fuck it!" He saw the cut cords. West didn't bother to even look at the next truck. If Jim had bothered to do as much, there could be little to suggest he wouldn't have done the same to the next.

There was movement ahead and the second wave of panic hit the Major. He had been so concerned over a simple man that he had nearly forgotten the situation at hand.

The eyes were red on the faces of the people now running at him, a group swarming from the tree line. Between the siren and the gunfire…they had been stupid, practically writing an invite in large, flashing lights.

The first hit the hood of the truck, a man. He was as nude as the base creature he had become and West was going to treat him as such.

He raised the rifle and shot through the glass. The first did little more than make a crack, but it was enough to allow the second through. The infected man fell, but there were more behind him.

West opened the door, exposing himself to the open position. He fired. One went down, then another. Then the weapon clicked with a signal that made the officer's heart drop. The ammunition had run out. There were still more, and he had little choice. He turned away as best as he was able and ran into the wooded grounds.

_**++&&&&++**_

The weapon was still warm but the lone corpse was already forgotten on the wet concrete. It had only been an infected.

Keplan had heard the Major's call and it sounded urgent, almost afraid, as he should be. The sun was almost down and they were out on a wild chase. The rain seemed to be getting stronger, but things always worked out for the best.

Keplan looked down at his watch.

"I'm disappointed, Kep."

The soldier didn't have to turn around to know that it was Jackson. Keplan could feel the gun pressed against the back of his head. He was good, there was no denying it. There weren't many would could get that close without notice.

"You aren't going to kill me." Keplan hoped his voice was calm enough. The man was angry, and liable to do something stupid.

"Seem pretty confident about that," Jackson tilted his head in amusement. "Not much range to miss here."

Keplan resisted a smirk, "You have a little under an hour, Donovan."

He risked moving, letting the rifle drop to one hand and holding it up in surrender. It was one thing to play the game; it was another to put his life on the line. His wellbeing had everything to do with Jackson, as annoyed as it made him.

He kept talking, "And if you want to make it you'll put that trigger away."

There was a pause, and he could feel the slightest hesitation against his skull.

"Care to explain?"

Keplan smiled. He had Jackson's attention.

The move to face the other man was slow, deliberate…and most importantly permitted as Jackson took a step back. The aim was still coolly focused and there was no chance for a distraction.

"A 'copter's on its way, provided by our good friends, naturally."

He let the information sink in and Jackson's weapon lowered expectantly. There was a frown and the blue eyes narrowed.

"You've been in contact with them all along."

Keplan shrugged and they could have been discussing it in the halls of a comfy little office environment for all the air he allowed. "With things going down here, my role's become compromised."

He let his hands drop at his sides, leaning back on a heel. Water dripped down his face from his hair that lay neatly platted against his head.

"Add the benefit of your joining us…well…let's just say that puts us both in good standings," Keplan smiled at that.

However, there wasn't much in the dark-haired man's features to give away his thoughts. Jackson remained quietly alert to the colleague. Even the dulled sounds of shooting in the background never even caused him to flinch.

"You left them alone," he finally responded, voice dark and deliberate.

Somehow Keplan had the feeling it would always come back to those two, which made for a very interesting turn of events.

"And you fucking _knew_ you weren't going back!" Jackson yelled into the storm.

"What should it matter?" Keplan cocked his head skeptically. He had hit a nerve, and he wasn't about to let up. "They're nothing to me, and you of all people know how much trouble Reisert's been."

Jackson's jaw clenched.

"It's your chance to walk away free. Shame though, the boys were getting pretty touchy there for a while…"

Keplan barely had even finished the last word before Jackson flipped the rifle and lunged forward. The stock hit with a sting and Keplan tasted blood. His tongue had been in just the right position.

"Thought as much," Keplan started with a grin. "You just can't leave well enough alone, can you Donovan?"

"I won't leave her…" There was nothing but sincerity in Jackson's words, and Keplan found himself almost jealous for that sort of…compassion. The feeling passed quickly. "…not to them."

"You're wasting time, Jack." Keplan pointed to his watch. "Ticking…"

Jackson looked in the direction of the mansion. The run suddenly seemed a lot longer than it had the first time, and he would have two more to slow him down on the way back. It didn't matter.

"Tick, tick…" the blond repeated.

Jackson turned back to him, lips tight as he pointed with accusation. "I don't want to hear a word from you."

They both knew by that point it was a false threat, but it felt good to let the feelings into the open. No pretenses about their situation. It was nothing but business.

"Less than an hour, Donovan." Keplan called out, but Jackson had already started walking away, easily broke into a run. "You better get a move on!"

There was another movement out of the corner of his eye and Keplan's gun went off. The infected hit the ground roughly, a bullet between the eyes. Jackson looked back once.

"So should you. I took the liberty of inviting a few friends." He smiled at Keplan's displeasure. "Please…try to play nice."

He left with the sound of another gunshot released behind him. Jackson only hoped that the man could keep the way clear for when they returned.

_**++&&&&++**_


	23. Raining Down

_**++&&&&++**_

It was surprisingly easier to break onto the grounds than it was to leave. Jackson made good timing, his stride never giving pause. The water felt much harsher during those breaks where the trees gave way, but there was no time to worry about trivialities.

The sun had vanished on his way; the clouds had done nothing to help save the remaining moments of light. Yet the trail of white was easy to follow, up the lawn, practically to the front steps. The lights were dim, hoping to attract as little attention as possible until the Major's return.

The steps were slick, but the treads on the shoes held firm. Jackson moved easily, keeping close to the building until he was able to reach the ledge. The rifle swung against his back as he hoisted himself up and followed the walls to his target.

There wasn't a soldier in sight, and he couldn't help but wonder what the Major would have done if he had found out.

One jump had Jackson from the side of the house to the wall overlooking the small yard. Mailer looked up at the sound and lunged until his chain would allow no more. Still, he pulled, but his cries were lost beneath the thunder. All the better, because when Jackson pulled the weapon around and shot at the chain's end, the occupants inside were none the wiser.

Mailer froze at the action; the calmest Jackson had ever seen one of them. He looked up once again and they both stood quiet.

Jackson considered what the creature could possibly be thinking. Did the anger stream through him with trembling waves or was it constant? Like a brand being stamped against the heart but the owner forgot to remove the hot iron.

In any case, the man was certain that Mailer would figure out the door. The infected may have been only a human gone mad, but that would only make them more determined to get what they wanted and Jackson was certain that he was not what the ex-soldier wanted. Not yet.

Like a good dog, the infected turned away and ran to the door. Jackson smiled before continuing on his own path.

_**++&&&&++**_

The tall room glowed under a few sparse candles that had been lit. The tension was high and one soldier paced nervously. He froze at the crash of lightning, but it wasn't the storm that had him on edge.

"What was that?" Jones questioned with a tremor to his voice. He was certain there was something, beyond the flares that broke the darkness.

Mitchell grumbled in annoyance, "Lightning."

Hannah shifted in her seat. The bright red material was a stark contrast against the dreary green of the antique couch. She resisted the urge to straighten one of the straps. It was in the process of falling, but no need to draw their attention to it by the motion. One of them had mentioned Prom, but if she had ever a choice in the matter, the dress would have been the last resort.

It 'poofed,' like a damned Cinderella, and she didn't feel very much like a princess at the moment. It made her feel very much like a child, with fancies of candy and vacations, and 'Prince Charmings.' There would be none of that for her, not anymore.

Hannah looked to Lisa. The woman looked just about as miserable, although her dress was much more stunning. It made her look the part of a woman just about to head to a night on the town.

Her eyes trailed down to the dark socks. Hannah had been able to keep her pants on beneath the layers of dress, complete with shoes. Lisa had not been so lucky.

There had been no time to argue about accessories and the socks remained, at least until the other men returned and tensions died down. Hannah secretly prayed they would never return.

Lisa's gaze was distant, anxious. Hannah sighed. At least her prince was on his way.

She glanced in Mitchell's direction and he blew her a kiss. This time she held back the shudder.

"I heard somethin'," Jones was at the window, weapon clutched in his hands like a life-support. "Sounded like a claymore to me!"

"That wasn't no bloody explosion," Mitchell insisted before standing up.

He seemed tired and the storm outside had them all nervous. When she looked long enough, Hannah could see it in their eyes. The Corporal's words did nothing to ease the soldier.

"Alright," Mitchell gave in with an uncharacteristic sign of sympathy. "I'll go ignite the floods and check the bushes."

He sighed, pulling out a fag and lighting it impatiently. Mitchell offered a smile and nod to the two on the couch, probably thought it was charming, "Girls, keep an eye on him, will ya?"

With a deep inhale he strode from the room, leaving only four to remain. Bell and Davis had gone to walk to halls, keeping up the pretenses that things were under control. Clifton remained quiet, beginning a steady pace himself. Between him and Jones, they would be easy to captivate.

"They've been a long time." The teen's voice wasn't loud, but it pierced the room regardless. "What ya going to do if they don't come back."

She had Jones' full attention and watched him curiously. He fidgeted, eyes darting between her and the window.

"Would you be the officer if Henry is dead?" Hannah pushed.

This earned the slightest laugh from Clifton, and she couldn't tell if it was out of cynicism or the use of the Major's first name.

She could find no reason to smile herself, "Is that the way it works?"

The soldier was upset, taking only one step closer to her. He wouldn't touch her though; he wasn't that sort of man. The way he quivered she wondered what sort of man he was.

"Shut up!"

He looked away, back out the window once more, but there were no lights yet.

"I don't think they are coming back," Hannah continued with an eerie edge to her voice. "I think they've been killed."

"I said shut up!" Jones shouted again. There was anger this time, trying to cover his fear. Clifton sighed with agitation, moving to the window to look for himself. There was nothing. He looked back to the other soldier who was speechless in his shakeup.

She felt Lisa's hand on her arm, "Hannah..." What could they do to her though? Kill her?

"They're dead, just like my dad, and Jim." There was certainty in her every word. Her eyes narrowed as they locked to the young Clifton's.

Then Hannah looked past him, out the window and into the rain. "And you're going to be next."

Another strike of lightning crashed as he turned. There was hardly a minute to register the figure that stood outside: skin dark against the backdrop and eyes of blood.

Mailer crashed through the glass with little notice and lunged at the soldier, taking him down easily in the surprise. It was a fury of rage and clawing as the pair scuffled on the ground. Jones tried to recover with little success, hands trembling in shock as he tried to ready his gun.

"Get up!" Lisa ordered immediately, pulling Hannah to her feet as they ran out the door. It was the chance they needed. "We can get out of here!"

Gunfire rang behind them but the two never stopped. It was a straight line to the front door but when it opened Mitchell turned to face them with surprise and his cigarette dropped to the ground. He didn't bother to stifle it. Davis was at his side and his rifle came up instantly.

"Oi!" Mitchell's face distorted in anger. He clearly thought it was too late for this sort of shit, but neither girl cared. "Where the fuck are you going? Eh?! What's all the fuckin' shoutin' about?"

As if on cue, Jones ran past down the hall, running clearly away as fast as his long legs would get him. Any other time would have been one to joke about the squeal of alarm that seemed to emit from his terror. But it was no day for jokes as his steps were immediately followed by two infected soldiers.

Clifton obviously hadn't been finished off.

Mitchell turns to Davis with a shout, "Well don't just stand there you soppin' cunt, get after him."

He grabbed Hannah's arm and for once, she wasn't about to fight him. Someone had brought the infected to their door. "You two, in the house…move!"

_**++&&&&++**_

Jackson heard the commotion and smiled. He paused outside a window, looking in long enough to recognize the once brightly lit kitchen.

Mailer entered hardly a moment later followed by a soldier that already looked like he had seen some fight on the field. The soldier's neck was bandaged, haphazardly. He fired his gun with urgent impulse, but it made him shoddy and even at close range he didn't get in a significant shot.

He had dropped his own after releasing Mailer. There had been maybe a shot or two left, and Jackson doubted they would have been much good. If the plan went well, he would only have a scattered few here and there to deal with when it was all over. Should the plan go well.

Jackson frowned with jaw tensing. Still, he could not turn away from the scene that began to play out.

It didn't take long for the attacked soldier to lay still on the gruff floor, mauled, for a lack of a better phrase. Jackson had never witnessed the actually act when an infected was let loose.

Once the creature realized the man was dead, it looked up and Jackson backed away, careful not to be noticed. When he did chance looking back inside, the creature was gone. But the room was not empty.

He had noticed the brief, very brief movement under the counter, and the fool risked coming out only seconds after Mailer had gone. Jackson's eyes narrowed at the sight of Jones as he stepped forward with that nervous, innocent posture. The man ran, no doubt on his way out the door as soon as he was able.

Jackson followed, rain hitting the building sides as it angled with the wind.

Sure enough, the second the front door opened, Jackson was there. Jones' eyes widened in surprise but he never got off a word before the assassin plunged the bayonet into the man's stomach. It was almost sad, the look of disbelief and apology in his expression.

A scream from the infected caused Jackson to finally look away, down the hall. Then he heard her voice…calling for desperately for Hannah. His features melted, praying he hadn't made a mistake. The grip on the rifle loosened and Jones fell to the floor, his eyes were already glazing over.

Then there were the footsteps, approaching fast and with no sense of stride. It was the infected, and he was running out of time. Jackson left the corpse and took cover in the foyer. Hiding would be pointless, so he scanned to room. The dagger would have been far too risky even if he was willing to go back for it.

There was a flash outside and he uttered a thanks for the storm when the doorway was revealed. It wasn't fully closed, opened just enough for him to dash for the safety and close the hidden passage behind him. He didn't expect they would be smart enough to find it, even he hadn't noticed it on a sunny day, but he didn't want to chance waiting for the results.

He followed the passage, up a set of steps and into another room. He made sure to close the door behind him, but the hall outside was silent.

"Hannah?" Jackson called. The feeling of panic climbed up his throat like bile. It was moment like this that he wished he had his watch. People had died to give him that watch.

He tried a door, but there was nothing. "Lisa?!"

The risk was drawing them up the stairs now and he could hear the infected as they clambered to follow the sound of his voice.

Jackson darted into the next closest room, closing the door quietly. Mid-motion he noticed the soldier that lay on the ground, clutching his rifle to him like a security-blankie.

It was fitting. One glance at the room told that it had once been for a little girl. There was still doll-painted wallpaper that lined just under the ceiling and stuffed toys by the bed where the man had taken up cowering.

Jackson gave him hardly any notice, moving the bed in front of the door for some sort of defense. He recognized the soldier, Grass Stains, he had called him. Soon he would be dead, but Jackson didn't have time to do it himself.

"I haven't got any fuckin' bullets!" Bell pleaded in an utterly pathetic tone.

Jackson almost could have felt pity for the man. Instead he went for the window, opening it up to expose the room to the cool night air. The rain still refused to let up but Jackson would be the last to complain about it.

"…don't fuckin' leave me!" The man shouted, desperate, but his words brought the very thing Jackson had hoped to avoid.

The door banged in an attempt to open it. The bed did its job, at least for the moment. A second attempt and it crashed open, allowing two infected soldiers to enter. They're attention went immediately for the easy target on the ground and they lunged.

Jackson didn't look back, taking the moment to make his get-away. He disappeared into the black rain outside.

_**++&&&&++**_


	24. Jackson

_**++&&&&++**_

Hannah was gone.

Lisa could feel tears threatening to break the surface as Mitchell pulled her along down the hall. With the reinforcements dwindling, she couldn't tell if his grip kept tightening to remind her that she was captive, or to remind himself that he was not alone.

In any case, Lisa could sympathize with the sentiments.

The girl had left. It was a move she probably would have pulled herself if the Corporal's gun wasn't firmly planted into her backside. But there were no soldiers to stop Hannah, so she just…left, with one last look that begged forgiveness and now Lisa was alone.

Painfully, wholly alone, and it ate away at every last bit of strength she had been clinging together.

_No_. Her lips tightened and she tried to draw away from the soldier, but he only shoved his elbow into her chest. For once Mitchell didn't spew remarks about the defiant move.

There was a sound from the roof that caused Lisa to look up. It could have been just the rain, but when she glanced at the soldier's face she knew that he heard it too. His restraint tightened.

"Come on!" He yanked her to the side, opening the doorway to a bedroom she recognized. It had been their first, with the flimsy twin bed and sack right where she left it. That meant…

"Move!" Mitchell ordered again.

They crossed the room and he paused at the window. For the briefest moment Lisa couldn't help but remember Jackson's lips…his eyes, the way his hand felt on her skin.

The thoughts were wrong and she blamed the situation before clenching her jaw tensely.

Mitchell tried to look outside but there was little anyone could see in the dark torrents that fell down the windowpanes and clattered on the roof outside. Lisa used her time a little differently, spotting the forgotten machete quickly. It still sat on the dirty excuse for a floor. She looked back up in an attempt to judge the distance to the closed doorway.

"Just you and me now, darlin'"

His voice was disgusting. She turned her lips down into a grimace as he pulled her closer, burying his nose into her hair.

"But don't you worry," he continued. "I'm going to get you out of here. And we're going to find a nice, little fuckin' place somewhere…"

Lisa jerked her head back hoping to shatter his goddamned nose, but he caught the motion in time to back up.

"Oi, you little…"

She flinched, expecting the blow but Mitchell stopped at the sound of a thud on the other side of the room. Lisa caught a glimpse past his shoulder and recognized Jackson's lean form easily.

Jackson wasted no time in lunging forward and Lisa felt her body freeze as he grabbed at the soldier and yanked Mitchell away. What followed was a sound that could only be described as a distorted roar, but for that moment the only thing Lisa could see was the blood.

His arm had brushed hers, not intentional and Jackson probably hadn't noticed, but it was slick and the dark trail made her heart stop. It was too dark to see his face even if he had turned around.

Jackson slammed the soldier against the wall and the man cried out in pain. The rifle went off, screaming bullets around the room.

Lisa dropped to the ground, trying to stay out of their way, and her gaze latched onto the familiar weapon that seemed even closer than she had first thought. It didn't take much effort to reach across and grab the handle between her fingers. Still, she swallowed a little bit harder, heart thrumming in her ears.

When the gunfire stopped Lisa looked up but refused to utter a sound, eyes growing damp at the sight. Jackson had gone completely mad, still beating the soldier to the wall. She had never imagined him capable of such a wild frenzy, pale chest bare as the dark streaks shimmered in wet contrast.

Mitchell was still alive, if only just, and groaning at the contact. She was no longer the object of his attention.

Lisa gripped the machete tighter before rising to her feet. "Jackson!"

He didn't seem to hear her at first and she heard the soldier's head crack.

"Jackson!" She yelled louder and this time he paused.

His breathing was deep, ragged. Suddenly he was intensely aware that she was still in the room, watching, and he knew exactly what she would think.

Jackson's teeth clamped together before dragging the beaten soldier to the floor. It needed to end, now, and he didn't have a weapon. He had never been strong enough to make a clean break of the neck. People had told him repeatedly it was all in the action, not the strength, but that had only made him more frustrated.

So Jackson pinned the soldier down with a swift motion and thrust his fingers into the man's eyes until Mitchell screamed. It was a painful, unholy sound that only caused Jackson to push them in deeper, angling just right.

It had always been a messy business; one that you never forgot. Just like you never forgot the screams.

He thanked above that Lisa was to his back so she couldn't see either face. The taste in his mouth was bitter from the blood, but it couldn't be helped.

Jackson waited until the thrashing stopped; until the body was still for longer than a few seconds. It was like waiting for one to drown. And after followed a moment where he simply sat on that beaten, mangled corpse, watching. He couldn't waste his emotion or time on disgust.

That made eight. He hoped West was long gone, but there were no assurances to satisfy him.

When he finally stood, turning to face her, Lisa took a step back. His eyes flickered down to her hand where the machete rested comfortably and he smiled, half smirked, exhausted. Blood still pounded and every vein trembled with adrenaline. It had always been a rush, but he was tired of playing.

He waited for it. Hell, he almost wanted her to prove herself right, but Lisa never attacked.

The green of her eyes was hidden beneath the shadows, but he got the impression they would have flared with…_anger?_

She was angry with him, and terrified. Probably couldn't tell if she should hack his head off or not. In any case, the emotions were thick and he could practically feel the tension in the air.

Lisa was the first to break the standstill, raising the weapon as he predicted. But it was a half-hearted attempt. She hesitated and Jackson couldn't remember her looking more stunning.

Lisa couldn't look away. She couldn't see if they were blue or red, but heaven help her, she couldn't look away.

She had hesitated and he closed the distance until she tasted blood. His lips took her hungrily, greedy as he moaned into her mouth and she had never tasted anything so beautiful. It was the way she had hoped that Jackson would kiss: dangerous and full of passion.

The way a man took the woman he wanted.

Her weapon dropped and she grabbed at his exposed skin, arms, chest…it didn't matter. He was wet: blood or rain; it seeped into her dress.

His arms wrapped around her until she was pressed against him and one hand had thread into her hair. She felt his tongue and responded, savoring the feel. Lisa lost herself to him. This time he wasn't holding back.

Jackson had come back for them…and he wasn't infected.

She wanted to laugh, with tears stained in the blood that tarnished his face and ran down his chest. She didn't want to question if any of it was his. She didn't want to think about the dangers, but the truth of their position refused to disappear for long.

_The blood_…

Lisa broke the kiss and she felt his chest heave against her as Jackson breathed in deeply. But she couldn't look at him yet.

Instead she watched the play of light (as dismal as it was) while her fingers caressed the lines on his shoulder. Some of it could have been infected, and it frightened her how much she just didn't care.

"That was longer than a heartbeat." His voice held the smooth elegance she remembered.

"Jackson…" The name was breathed quietly. His muscles tensed but she didn't need to feel the reaction to know. Lisa pulled away just enough to look into his eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes…

The slap was unexpected, loudly echoing in the empty room. Jackson winced, releasing her in order to rub his cheek.

"How long?" Lisa demanded, keeping her taut words quiet and steady.

He had been right. The anger spread over her features and he trailed down to the lips that had been tainted with the metallic liquid. Jackson licked his own to find a similar consistency.

He debated arguing with her, wondered if he should try to play it off. Perhaps come up with some quick observation and play to her insecurities. But she looked at him and somehow he couldn't find it in him to lie.

"The gas station."

She nodded and diverted her eyes. It was the awkward silence that reminded Jackson of their time restriction.

"I thought you left us." Her voice was painfully quiet and her back had turned to him. "I didn't think you would ever…"

Lisa felt his hand take her arm and turned easily with the pull. His expression was urgent and she quickly wiped away the tears.

"Look, I would love to hang around and chat all day over this, and I promise you now that we will." Jackson opened his mouth to continue, but quickly shut it again. It was not the time for explanations. He searched her features through the emotions before his eyes narrowed resolutely.

"I need for you to trust me, Leese. We have to go…now."

His hand dropped to hers, taking it firmly as he made his way for the door. "…but Hannah..." Jackson didn't pause at her uncertainty. "I don't know where she…"

The moment the door opened a shot rang out, scarcely missing his head.

They quickly backed away and he looked for the wielder. West…? Jackson shot a disapproving glare to the teenager that stood in the hall. _A regular Annie Oakley_…

"Jim?!" Hannah questioned, lowering the rifle. There was a sound behind her and they all turned to look.

"Hannah, hurry…" Lisa hissed and the girl didn't hesitate to follow.

Lisa pulled her hand from Jackson's and took the teen by the arm, nearly dragging her along with them.

Jackson led the way, down the hall and nearly jumping the stairs to the bottom. There was no question about where they were heading, only if the infected soldiers would ignore them for long enough to make it. The sounds of cries echoed in the rafters and through the doorway even as they left.

The rain was still steady but not the torrents of earlier. All the better, as they ran down the steps to the cab that waited for them like a shining beacon. A dull, black painted heap of a beacon, but welcomed regardless.

Lisa nearly slipped as the pads of her socks lost hold, but Hannah held her firmly until she could catch herself.

"I'll drive," Hannah announced as they reached it and let go of Lisa's hand.

None of them were about to argue. She was already rounding the vehicle when Lisa reached the passenger side, pulling open the door wide. There was no room to reflect over her mistake when they saw the figure settled in the back.

West looked past her and straight to Jackson. He didn't bother to get up, holding his rifle on his lap. There was blood on his hands, but she couldn't tell if he was injured. His eyes were haunted in a way that sent chills up her back.

"You killed all my boys," the officer stated far too calmly before he raised the rifle to aim.

There wasn't time, but Lisa still tried to slam the door closed as the shot went off. The sound was stifled in the patter of rain but Jackson's voice was clear when she fell back into the wet puddle under their feet.

"Leese!"

The way he said her name made her smile. She remembered how angry he had been with her once, and how furious she had been. But the way he spoke her name now…it seemed like such a long time ago.

"Come on, it's not that bad." It sounded more like encouragement for himself rather than for her. "Keep looking at me, Leese!"

Lisa listened as best as she was able but being shot was a new feeling, and one she decidedly did not like. She wondered if Jackson had felt this way back in Miami.

He held her firmly, hand pressed to her stomach as they sat on the muddied ground. Water continued to stream down his face as he kept talking. She had stopped being able to make out the words though.

They could have been tears. If she could have shaken her head, Lisa would have tried. It was only the rain.

"Jackson…" Even his name on her lips was a weak effort.

Those blue eyes were desperate in a way she never thought to see, not for her. He pulled her closer and she nearly cried as the world spun into darkness.

"It hurts."

_**++&&&&++**_


	25. Back to the Facts

_**++&&&&++**_

The ride was waiting; propellers humming with anxiousness and Jackson knew they wouldn't have stalled for much longer. He had wasted time and it could have cost them their lives.

Keplan stood at the foot with an uncomfortable expression that melted into relief as the cab rounded the bend into sight. Jackson knew the man would most likely pick apart some of the details: broken windows, dents, blood on the handles. All the things he would have looked for. But Keplan was about to get a little more than expected with this delivery.

The tires bumped and the passengers followed the suit. Jackson winced, gripping the woman tighter to his chest. He took pains to harden his face, lips as tight as his chest felt. She was strong but he was all too aware that even giants could fall.

Lisa was paler than anticipated as they came under the light of the grounded Pave Hawk.

"Stop here!" he ordered loudly and Hannah was on the ball, skidding to a stop in her well-practiced manner.

There was no urging needed as she practically leapt from her seat, opening the door to give Jackson way. The shimmy was easier than expected and part of him believed that in her state Lisa wouldn't care if her head hit the ceiling. He was careful all the same.

Keplan jogged forward with a look of concern. Jackson was glad the man didn't grin because he was in no mood for smart-asses.

"I can't believe you fucking pulled it off!" Keplan exclaimed.

The woman was limp under his arm and he pulled her closer, afraid to remove his hand from the wound. Her feet dragged on the wet concrete and for the first time he noticed that she wasn't wearing shoes.

"I don't give a bleeding fuck about what's on your mind," Jackson yelled back. His eyes fell to the man's wet uniform. "Take off your jacket!"

For once Keplan didn't argue. He nearly had it off before Jackson had lifted the woman into both arms. "What happened?"

"West," Jackson wasn't about to go into explanation. "Stomach. I need it tight."

He looked to the helicopter as Keplan tied the arms securely around her. The second it was tightened Jackson started walking, with Hannah keeping stride. He had caught her apprehensive look directed at the familiar soldier but he was in no mood to deal with questions that were not his own.

"Medic?" Jackson asked, taking note of the camouflage attired soldiers that remained stationed on the machine.

They appeared all too ready to leave. The men were prepared at least, faces unreadable apart from their assessment. As they got closer Jackson could make out the emblem that defined the Italians.

"Required in order to get to this territory. They don't want to take any risks and you, my friend, have just shaped a rather large debt." Jackson didn't pause but there was a visible flinch. "She looks bad off. How long as she been out?"

"Too long. Just get us the hell out of here!"

"We have a bleeder!" Keplan called out loudly as they stepped under the range of the beating air. Instantly the men were on the defensive, rifles raised, aimed and shouting all around as one of them pulled out a box.

"She's not infected…" Jackson shouted instantly, turning her away from the waiting fire and making certain he was in the middle. His face was angry and he took a step back.

What he felt was panic. "She's not fucking infected! She needs help! Put that shit away and help her!"

Keplan started barking orders with words Jackson couldn't make out. He had always been a little too lazy to learn the language himself and could make out perhaps a word or two but he wasn't in the mood to concentrate. The blond kept surprising him with secrets and it was making him progressively more uncomfortable.

"Jim?" Hannah's voice was quiet at his side and he looked down.

She was hesitant, terrified, but she hid it well. To say her eyes were dry would have been foolish as her hair was limp against her head and dripping from the light rain that continued to. But her chin remained just the slightest bit higher than it should have.

She was a fighter; there was no denying it, and it made him proud.

"It will be fine," he tried to assure her, despite the feeling of foreboding that kept his body tense.

Jackson looked down in his arms and the sensation escalated. Lisa had to get to that medic.

He started towards the soldiers. Keplan was still arguing with one, shouting and spitting, but the other man was already backing down. The guns were lowered and one leaned down to take Lisa from Jackson's arms.

He saw the opened medical supplies and shot the man a glare of warning before helping Hannah up.

The rain had washed much of it away, but there were still lingering streams of red on his arms that dripped into the mud before he entered the rescue carrier. It was hers, he was convinced, and he could only imagine how it must look. Jackson caught one man purposely divert his eyes on contact.

The helicopter shifted under them as it lifted off the ground.

His hand took hold of a handle for support before Jackson allowed himself to look down at the busy soldier. There was no way to tell if more damage had been done, but the man seemed to be competent. It would at least get them to a hospital, if there were any to be had.

The exhaustion hit hard and Jackson fell back against the still material of a seat. He bit down, eyes narrowed before they turned back on Hannah. She looked just about as anxious but her attention was far from the men around her.

He followed her gaze until they both were watching the ground under them, dark and quiet. Jackson knew the girl was asking herself where all the lights had gone, even though logic had already answered for her.

At least now they were heading back to civilization, for whatever that would mean.

**++&&&&++**

It was Tuesday. At least that is what the papers read as Jackson flipped the page. He was too distracted to care about the details and finally threw it on the magazine-filled table at his feet. It was too normal, despite the chatter of French voices that he much preferred to the Italian.

They had stopped at a base, quickly moving across the water to a French hospital that sat in waiting for the influx of these sorts of cases. He had heard details about the necessary quarantines and cleansings that the rescued underwent, but conveniently enough someone had taken the means to get them by without it. A little cleaning up on his part and no one even questioned.

But that still left him waiting, eyes drifting between the floor and the closed doorway.

Hannah watched expectantly as Jackson resumed the familiar pacing that seemed to take up much of his time since they arrived. She, on the other hand, was more that comfortable sitting in her own disquiet.

When a familiar face trailed into sight it did nothing to better their moods and Hannah was on her feet in an instant.

Keplan had cleaned up also, trading in the fatigues for a crisp pair of khakis and simple black button-down. Hannah almost thought he could have passed for handsome if she didn't remember the circumstances. She didn't like him, didn't trust him, and a glance at Jackson confirmed that any words about to come out of his mouth was about to make them both very unhappy.

"We've got a ride to catch," the blond man informed as he approached without taking a second look at the girl.

Keplan didn't offer any further clarification and Jackson wasn't in the mood to play.

"I'm not leaving until they give the all-clear."

"You know damned well she'll be fine," Keplan's air of casualness was an insult in itself.

"No…I don't." He did, but it didn't settle his stomach. They had still refused to let him in to see her. "And it doesn't matter, I'm not leaving her alone."

"Briggs would beg to differ."

Jackson clenched his jaw and looked away. It was too soon. He knew they would come looking for him, but somehow he had hoped to save the face-to-face for another day. Perhaps one in the far, far distant future. He cursed angrily.

"Who's Briggs?" Hannah questioned with naïve innocence. "Is that another soldier?"

Keplan leaned closer, making a point to leave the girl out of his conversation. She shifted uncomfortably, eyes narrowed.

"Leave the girl here. You know they won't tolerate wandering ears."

It would be his first time meeting with the Organization since Keefe. There would be much to say and even more to account for. Yet his eyes couldn't leave the doors at the end of the hall.

"You know Briggs won't wait. You have just this one shot, Donovan."

He hated to admit that the man could be right, but Jackson had seen what the company was prepared to do. They had no qualms about doing the unthinkable and now he had introduced two new leverages. Lisa was only as safe as he could keep her, and that depended solely on the decisions he would make from this point on.

There was no choice in the matter, only how he would decide to handle it.

Jackson took a breath and released with a sigh of resignation. It was what he did, went to work day in and out like a good little minion. The promises had always rung of milk and honey but the results often ended much less idealist.

"Hannah, I need you to wait here," Jackson ordered as he met Keplan's gaze. There would be no challenging his verdict. "I won't be long."

She was oddly quiet, enough to make him pause with a final glance in her direction. She did not look pleased.

"Who are you?"

The question took him off guard and he cocked his head curiously. Her hands were shoved in pockets but she didn't cower away from him. She was a smart girl but it was neither the time nor place to discuss such discrepancies. Still he found it difficult to be annoyed with her.

His lips turned up in a quiet smile at the thought, "Sometimes I wonder that myself."

"You will come back though?" she asked in a way that made him question if she would ever be able to smile again. Not like that moment under the sunlight of an open field.

"I promise," Jackson replied. It was his word and he hoped to keep up the record.

He had never been the type to get emotional. It wasn't a smart thing to do in his field. Even still, he noticed how the girl quivered with worry. It surprised even him when he moved closer and pulled her into an embrace of comfort they both needed in that moment. Jackson ignored the other man's glare.

"If she wakes up," he whispered against the girl's hair. "…if they let you in…" Jackson let go enough to look her in the eye. "Stay with her. Tell her I won't be long."

He might have scolded himself once, for being so vulnerable, but she was much more important than keeping up images.

Hannah nodded solemnly and Jackson was almost afraid she was going to break right there. He didn't have the patience to deal with her insecurities and took that moment to make his escape, letting go and turning away as his feet took him from the scene. Keplan followed and they made their way down the hall, strides steady and determined, leaving behind a symphony of beeping machinery and hushed whispers.

None of it really mattered in the end.

Jackson glanced at his wrist before they left the hospital entrance. It would have been nice to have his watch back. Then he could have kept track of the time until he was to sign away his soul for the second time. Briggs would expect no less from him.

There was a car waiting for them: black, naturally, and a Nissan for all its irony. Jackson sneered as he remembered the abandoned counterpart. Keplan was the first to make a move. He opened the back seat door and Jackson knew better than to ask who provided the transportation.

"Hurry it up, Donovan." His lips were turned downward and Keplan shifted his jacket just enough to flash the piece that hung at his waist.

Jackson was quick on the pick-up, "I take it this won't be a pleasure trip then?"

"Not if everything goes well."

Keplan slammed the door closed once the other man had entered, and continued on to his place in the driver's seat.

Jackson stared out at the busy streets and surrounding buildings. He had almost forgotten what it was like. Almost. When the car rumbled to a start he turned back with eyes set on the rearview mirror. Keplan was distracted, and with every right. Ellen was not a woman to be kept waiting.

_**++&&&&++**_


	26. Finishing the Job

_**++&&&&++**_

It was a quiet drive at first and Jackson found his mind wandering as he looked out the clear window. It wasn't even tinted, most likely a rental from the recently vacuumed floor and scent of freshener.

They made a turn down cobbled streets that put them off the major roads but Keplan showed no sign of slowing down.

The silence was broken before long when the man's curiosity took hold, or the quiet was just bothering him. In any case it didn't help the underlining tension in Jackson's chest.

"How did you start with them, Donovan?"

Jackson wasn't about to dignify it with an answer. The last thing he was interested in was sharing life-stories with the man. Yet for some reason Keplan was intent on continuing.

"Me…I was a driver. Just like this," Keplan went on to explain before turning a bend at a café that looked strangely inviting. "Tryin' to finish up school, make a little cash. My uncle owned a couple of cabs and the business wasn't too bad."

The mention of cabbies was a sour subject and Jackson's lips pressed tighter.

"So one day this guy hops into my cab and starts talking, like he's known me for years. Harrison was always the type to make it personal. But then you were recruited by Briggs, weren't you?"

Blue eyes narrowed and Jackson briefly wondered about buckling his seatbelt. He quickly dismissed the notion.

"She and I never talked very much, not until all this happened with you. Can't say I mind, she seems to have taken a liking to me."

_More than likely found some dirt_, Jackson couldn't help but think with a smirk at the idea.

"I don't get to do much driving these days, but every time I do it brings back those days before the Organization existed. I know they've been around forever but until you know about it, until you see it first hand, it never truly exists."

He paused, with that quiet expanse that Jackson always hoped would last a lot longer than the reality of it. He knew the point was coming, eventually.

"What happened to West?"

There it was.

The sounds of the Major's screams were still fresh and Jackson could still feel the blood washing away under the rain when Hannah had backed up the cab. He had only seen enough to know that Mailer had finally gotten a chance to take out his fury on the officer.

There was no pity to be spared on his end. When the cab had come back around the broken rear window had been enough to settle his mind about the matter. There had been much more important issues that lay on his lap at the time.

"Mailer."

He could see the brown eyes glance into the rear mirror but it did nothing to instigate more share-time on his part. Whether Keplan got the hint or not, time had run out. The car pulled to a stop outside a rather plain looking flat down a narrow strip. The buildings rose in stacks of two to three. It was nothing to write home about which was precisely why it had been chosen.

The locks clicked open and Jackson looked back to the driver. He remained motionless, uncertain.

"What, you want me to take you by the bloody hand?" the man snapped without bothering to turn around. "I was only told to bring you to the gate. Myself…I have much more entertaining ways to spend my day."

_No doubt_.

Keplan already had hit foot on the petal before the door had finished closing and Jackson was alone, left to look at the vacant windows that loomed over the sidewalk. Vacant, but he was confident he was already being watched.

With each stride he began to start the checks, second guessing every last detail. Clothes had been provided: a pair of fatigue pants and navy shirt. The air was cool on his skin and if he had a jacket he would have straightened it as best as he was able. At least he had made certain to tuck the shirt in. Style had been the last thing on his mind until he had taken that first step out of the car.

Her words came back to him from all those years ago: "_You are better than the common man, better than every man under you. Dress the part so they never forget it_."

The bell chimed with a tune that seemed uncharacteristically ordinary. She answered none-the-less.

"James."

There was a smile in the woman's eyes when she opened the door. If he hadn't been looking for it Jackson would have missed it otherwise. She was a petite woman, hair properly set upon her head in a way that told her age despite the attempts to color the strands gold. The last time he had seen her it had been a shade more bronze.

"Ellen."

They had never been the type to settle with last names. She insisted on no title regardless of the circumstance, feeling too old to be called Mrs. and too undistinguished to go by Miss. After three husbands she was sick of the confusion.

Jackson's gaze traveled past her to the man that stood at the living room doorway. Marks had never been a chatty man, and this time looked to prove no different. He looked miserable.

Ellen moved out of the way, giving room for Jackson to pass before closing the door. There was a nod to the guard and she proceeded to continue down the hall. By the glare Marks was sending his way, Jackson took the hint to follow. The office was almost homey, the dark-stained desk shone with polish. _Maple_, he wondered briefly.

"Close it," her crisp tone ordered and he didn't hesitate. The double doors creaked with rebellion.

By the time Jackson turned back around she had taken a seat at the desk and all traces of smile were gone. Papers were piled neatly and he couldn't help but notice the United Airways pamphlets.

Ellen rested with one arm against the table with the other propped against it and hand resting against her chin in an unhappy manner. There was a motion for him to take a seat across from her and he briefly considered it, taking in the sight of the wooden frame and dark blue material of the seat.

It looked uncomfortable and instead he steadied his stance, two feet apart, shoulders back, hands folded in front and his chin just up ever so slightly. She sighed and lowered her hands in front.

"I can't tell you what a relief it is that you are back."

"I never took you for one to play favorites."

The corners of her lips turned up. "It has nothing to do with favoritism. It is always refreshing to have these little meetings of ours. Normally they come in here groveling after a show like yours." She cocked an eyebrow thoughtfully looking down at the subject matters on the desk. "If they come in at all."

_Might as well dive right in, while we are here_.

"And when has it done any of them any good? I'd much rather have it out here and now if it comes to that." It had gotten her attention and she looked up with curiosity, thankfully no sign of anger. "You could have let me die, or hell, shoot me yourself here after your done belittling me on the shit job performance back in Miami. But somehow, I have the feeling you need me for something or you wouldn't have let me this far."

That did cause a smile, "Always straight to business, Mr. Donovan."

The use of name gave away the underlining feelings with harsh precision.

"It's all we've ever been about. I'm a professional and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Yes." There was skepticism in her tone and it did nothing to ease his unease. She tossed a manila folder across the table and he took a step forward to take it. "I hope this time there won't be any complications."

"Let me handle things on my own terms and I'll put on the best performance you could hope for..." Jackson doubted he would be so lucky, but it was worth the shot. He stepped back again, opening the folder to glance over the reports.

"Your own terms…" she scoffed. "You are amusing."

His eyes narrowed as he took in the information in his hands. Each page made him increasingly displeased.

"Here are the terms, Mr. Donovan." Jackson turned his attention back on her. "On June twenty-fourth Michael Edwards will be making a speech to introduce plans for the British refugees and the state of the country. They are already making small rounds to clean up the island, monitoring the decline of the disease, and yes, Mr. Donovan, it is waning despite how it must have seemed from a first hand experience."

Ellen paused and her features seemed to soften, "I did not envy you."

The target date was only a few weeks away. _A few weeks to_… "Which brings us to the topic at hand?"

"They want it public. Something to show the true decimation of Great Britain."

It struck him then with an odd sort of clarity that brought his eyes up to meet hers. "The virus was planted."

She didn't answer. She didn't need to. Instead Ellen looked away as though the walls were suddenly a work of Picasso.

Her tone held the same sort of museum casualness that was spoken with a sigh as if it had been uttered a hundred times, "It was being studied. We've been assured that for the completion of this assignment the Organization will have full access to the vaccine along with the standard benefits, naturally. Events came about sooner than planned, but they intend to make full use of the results."

There was quiet as she waited for any sort a response. What she got was only to be expected.

"Are you insane?" Jackson raised his voice, the folder gripped tightly in his hand as he struggled to restrain himself. "This is the Prime Minster, you are talking about! The Organization hasn't hit the major political leaders in years, and now you expect…?"

If her glare wasn't enough to stop him her words were.

"You are forgetting yourself, Mr. Donovan," Ellen Briggs snapped with agitation as she rose to her feet, hands on the desk. Her slight stature did nothing to take away from her presence. "I have tolerated your little dramatic escapade with this Reisert girl. Despite the Keefe loss I cannot forget the service you have provided, but I will not accept this sort of reproach as to my authority or the assignment to which I am entrusting you."

"Entrusting…," he remarked with clenched teeth. "That's a rich sentiment."

"It's forgiving." She let the term settle. Angry as he was, there was only so much she would allow from him.

"We have taken a loss both in men and resources due to this fuck-up," The woman continued angrily. "We are trying to hold the world together as usual, Mr. Donovan. I'm certain I don't need to remind you. A select few decided to play god and we must take out place at the right hand."

She had his attention and she took the opportunity to lower her voice. There were always other ears.

"We've never been in a position quite so opportune as this and to be perfectly honest I wouldn't be confiding this to the rest of the stragglers we've retained. You know personally the consequences of failure and I believe you are the most sensible choice to handle it. You're an asset, Mr. Donovan."

He couldn't resist the sneer, "And you're trying to appease me…"

"I'm trying to make you listen to reason before you screw things up for the both of us. We can't afford to lose your service and are quite prepared to go through whatever means necessary to keep it."

_Leese_, he was certain. And Hannah. He had known it before ever setting foot in the building but it was strange to hear it from her lips. It seemed so much more concrete. His line of sight focused on the rough material on the floor, reds entwined with gold and black patterns that reminded him of a small hotel in Morocco.

"I won't have any say in the matter, I assume."

"Of course not. We are still _your_ deity," there was amusement in her voice. "Can't have those around us questioning that notion."

Jackson made a point to avoid her gaze, scanning the details some more but his focus only allowed a meager registration.

"She is awake. I thought you'd like to know."

He wasn't surprised, even when she put her mobile on the table for effect. "I'm sure I don't have to spell out those details for you. One move, James, and I make the call."

Jackson closed the folder, "I appreciate your faith in me, but you know damn well I won't be able to pull this off. Especially with that sort of timeframe."

"Even for the price of your freedom?" She had said those words once before. The second time seemed much less surreal but the danger a hundred fold. He shot her a glare that warned against dangling bait.

"I suppose everything happens for a reason. I offered you this chance once before and I doubt Harry of all people will be pleased about my decision in bending the rules for this one. But even he can't deny my justification."

Jackson never liked being indebted and tried to hold back his complaint, "I appreciate it, Ellen."

She smiled in a way that almost made her appear soft, had he not known better. "Always my pleasure, I'm sure."

The woman took her seat again, settling back into the leather with a motion for him to follow. This time he accepted the offer and sat down. Yet something still crawled under his skin that he couldn't quite reach.

"Why keep me in the coma?"

Her chin raised and her expression was every bit confused, "I beg your pardon?"

"I should have been either dead or in recovery. We both know those wounds weren't serious enough to keep me unconscious. It doesn't seem like you to keep me around without reason and no one could have predicted the outbreak's timely entrance."

"You are right, it isn't like me." The words trailed off as she took it into consideration and he met her eyes with a tilt of the head. "A dead man can't give me answers, James. But neither can an incapacitated one. I had a hard enough time tracking you down when we learned you had been moved out of the country."

She really hadn't known?

"But enough talk about the past." The subject was changed and she handed him the pamphlets across the table as he had suspected. "Here are your tickets. The girl should be well enough to travel by the week's end, at least to get back into her own country. I'd suggest keeping her out of the fire."

It seemed so simple: one moment waking up to the sounds of a vacated city with the devil at your heels and the next on a flight into the very flames he expected to find waiting in the States. It was drastic, the differences between the two, but he wondered if either one was better than the other.

"Just like that?"

"No, in fact those were hell to get arranged. I would like to emphasize the _opportunity_. Without that Reisert girl being brought alive it would have been much more difficult to get you into the States. They've closed the borders indefinitely it would seem. Or at least until signs of this infection are altogether vanished which is in effect the same outcome from the sounds of things." They might as well have put up a sign telling the rest of us to fuck off for all the good it will do. The only people they are letting in are displaced citizens and with her connections…"

Any excuse… "I'm sure they've seen my face…"

"Where?" He didn't appreciate the tone of voice as she answered. "You handled the airport security from the beginning. We took care of everything after."

"Except you couldn't fucking notice that I was gone," Jackson remarked irritably.

"Language, James. Regretfully, some things can never be predicted."

Jackson examined the tickets in his hand. He flipped the first open, finding it complete with ID's, passports, all the necessities and luxuries he could have asked for. _One…two…_there were four.

Ellen noticed his hesitation. "You are to take Keplan."

His head snapped up, jaw tense. "I haven't had a partner in over five years."

"What you do with him is your concern. But now that you mention it, making him your partner might do you some good."

_Conniving_, Jackson couldn't help but think as he saw the smile come back to her eyes.

"You'd almost think you don't trust the man, even after your time together. If it wasn't for him you'd still be back in Manchester."

Jackson folded up the papers again, resting them easily on his lap as he leaned back. The chair was just as uncomfortable as it looked. "If anything that makes me trust him less."

"Good. I'm glad to see this woman hasn't made you lose all your senses." The conversation was nearly over, her posture was enough to give away that much. Her voice dropped quietly. "Keep Keplan close."

"This is an impossible assignment," he remarked as Ellen finalized her intention by standing and starting towards the doorway.

"Yes, James. But it's always been your job to figure out a way to make it work." She lingered, eyeing him over as he got to his feet, measuring, and didn't seem pleased with what she saw.

"There's a credit card in there. Go find yourself some clothes."

_**++&&&&++**_

Lisa winced as her body protested the movement. They had told her to relax (some in better English than others) but after everything they had been through it was hard to follow the order.

Hannah was there, sitting on the well-worn chair at her side, but Lisa couldn't help but notice the missing person. There was that trying conflict between her head and her heart; one couldn't figure out why he wasn't there, the other wondering why she should care in the first place.

_You know perfectly well why_.

Hannah seemed to notice her doubt despite her attempt of cover, "Jim said he'd be coming back."

The look in his eyes when she fell… "He didn't say where he was going?"

"No, that soldier came for him. The one from…"

"Keplan," Lisa interrupted, knowing perfectly well which one. The game wasn't over yet.

Her lips were dry and Lisa spotted the cup of water at her side. She tried to ignore the IV as she reached for it. She had seen blood, the tearing of limbs, watched as infected ripped a screaming human being to pieces, but she still got queasy at the sight of liquid flowing into her punctured skin.

"Did you know him? Jim I mean," Hannah asked as she moved the tray closer so that Lisa could reach. "Before the infection."

Lisa smiled in thanks, taking the cup and staring into the clear liquid. Everything about him had been so clear once. He was the 'bad man' in the situation. It had been his call that decided whether her dad was to live or die. Jackson was the one turning her life to shit…

_We're both professionals. We have the means and the will to follow through and if we don't our customers aren't happy, and when they're not we suffer and our lives go to shit_…

His words echoed painfully.

"I wouldn't exactly say I _knew_ him, but we had met before." Lisa took a sip. There was a slight tremble in her fingers as she brought the cup back down.

There were no stitches and her skin was beginning to itch. It was a good sign that it was healing as intended, but it would only be a matter of time before the itch turned to an ache and she would get another dose of pain killers.

"…in Miami."

"Is that where you're from?"

The question took her a little by surprise. Lisa hadn't really thought about simple things like 'where she was from' as being interesting topics of the moment. But the girl was eager for an answer, probably bored out of her mind.

Lisa knew what it was like to have too much time to think.

And they really hadn't talked. Not about family, not about background, not about favorite colors or first kisses or nail polish. Lisa almost laughed as the last thought trailed through her imagination.

"Yeah, living in sunshine," she mused. All those stresses of a menial day at the hotel seemed like a walk in the park.

Speaking of which, she was already growing tired of being kept up in bed, but the doctors were adamant on keeping her for observation.

"You never really appreciate it until it's gone."

"I've always wanted to visit the States. But my dad…" Hannah swallowed but didn't look away. There was an intake before she continued with a forcefully steady voice. "Well, we never really had the money."

There were 'what-ifs' running through the girl's mind, Lisa was certain. In a way, she was glad the man never saw the chaos that happened in that mansion. He really didn't suffer long, all things considered.

_Suffer long_…it sounded cold even in her thoughts.

But they were alright now, at least from the infected. And if France was free… "Is it there? The infection, has it crossed over?"

"No," Hannah answered quickly, leaning forward to put her elbows on her knees. "All over the news they are saying it's being kept in Great Britain. Nothing's crossed over the water."

Relief flooded and Lisa hadn't realized how much her body had tensed waiting for the reply. So many nights of hopelessness and pushing her emotions away…

Lisa brought a hand to her mouth, trembling, as her eyes watered. Hannah took the cup away and Lisa choked back a sob.

They were okay. She smiled, choking back the tears. Her family was okay and life at home was continuing as normal. She had refused to let herself expect anything, too many fears of being crushed. But now…

"Then they have to let me home. My dad…"She looked back to Hannah and had forgotten just for that moment. Lisa quickly bit her tongue as the girl forced a smile. She needed to ask, "Will you come with me? We can take you to see everything. New York, the Grand Canyon… Disney World."

It suddenly seemed very important. All those things she had always taken for granted, even complained about when reminiscing childhood trips. But now they seemed like such pleasant dreams and the teen's eyes smiled back.

"Disney World?" Hannah questioned skeptically.

Lisa smiled. "Don't knock it. I still loved it and I'm..." She paused trying not to remind herself of her age. "…a lot older than you and I'll just leave it at that."

Hannah's smile faded and she looked away, down at her closed hands. "I guess I really don't have anywhere else to be. No home at least."

Lisa reached out to take her arm and the girl looked back up.

"Yes, you do."

_**++&&&&++**_


	27. Candy Flowers

_**++&&&&++**_

The automatic doors opened allowing all the smells and sounds that accompanied a hospital visit to assault his nose. Jackson couldn't even remember his own time there, only brief glimpses and painful interludes.

All for the best. He snickered.

The car was parked; a classy-colored Lexus that had been waiting for him out back after his visit. A new watch, although the Rolex had been exchanged for a Citizen. As his heels tapped against the tiled floor, heads turned; some more discrete than others. It was almost uncomfortable to be back, mostly because he knew that would mean questions.

Jackson arrived at the elevator and pressed the button. He thought about adjusting the crisp new jacket, but it wouldn't help much until it was worn in a little. It was a dusky grey contrast against the pale blue, collared undershirt. The upper buttons were free and when he entered the elevator his reflection gave him a sense of regret over his hair.

It wasn't bad, much less upkeep, but it was different and noticeably so with the clothes.

Third Floor. Room 315. It was quiet in the halls and he got little attention from the orderlies as he made his way.

Jackson paused outside the doorway to see the two chatting away quietly. Lisa looked exhausted, sitting upright with her attention on the girl. Hannah had brought her legs up onto the chair as best as she was able and was the first to notice him.

"Knock, knock," he remarked with a smile.

Hannah returned it easily but Lisa's gaze was much more dubious. He knew she was taking in the appearance, contemplating the absence, wondering what the next move would bring about.

"You came back," Lisa observed quietly as Hannah stood.

"You've questioned that twice now," Jackson noted. Did she think he wouldn't? Even after…

"Someone cleans up nice." Hannah's voice took him off guard despite knowing she was in the room.

He gave a nod in reply, "I got us a hotel just down the street. Picked up a few clothes, but if you want to head to the store I'll take you over in a bit."

"Where did you get the money, Jack?" Lisa asked from the bed.

At the question he met her eyes. She wasn't stupid. Even if he had a choice, it would have done them no good to sit and waste in a foreign hospital. They would expect payment eventually, emergency or not, people were the same everywhere. There were always financial necessities and at the moment he was the only one who could provide them.

Hannah picked the opportune moment to interrupt his increasing agitation. "Is that your name?"

Jackson turned to her. Really, what answer could he give?

"Sometimes," he settled with. When it was all over with, there was no telling what the printed label would say tomorrow. "But yeah, call me Jackson. I haven't gone by Jim in a very long time."

"Well…Jackson," Hannah's eyes flickered between the couple and her hands went into her pockets. He caught the look and had an idea of what she was planning. "If you have any coins on you, I could go get some drinks if you'd like any."

Jackson pulled out a bill from his wallet and handed it to her. She looked at it curiously for a moment but he was sure she would make sense out of it one way or another.

"None for me," he answered and she gave a small smile to Lisa before leaving.

"I'll be right back." She was gone a moment later, leaving the pair alone.

It didn't last. A nurse pushed past him into the room and Lisa became all polite smiles and nods of approval. Anything to get rid of the woman, Jackson assumed. The method worked and the nurse seemed happy with the results, giving him an odd glance of warning before leaving. He hated hospitals.

"No flowers?" Lisa broke the silence with an almost teasing tone of voice.

He raised a brow with all seriousness, "I thought the funeral was over?"

She had to look away so the most sensible place was down at the bed sheet. "You're right, I shouldn't have…"

It bothered him because she had no reason to apologize.

What he wanted to do was rush to her side and take her head between his hands. He wanted to press his lips to her forehead and whisper his fears. Give her all the flowers she required and even the ones she didn't need.

How many years of keeping relationships distant? And just one look from Lisa Reisert made him crumble like he was just some regular guy making bicycle deliveries.

So he stepped closer and she looked up at the sound of his footsteps. One motion and he had pulled the candy out from his jacket pocket with the slightest tip up from the corner of his lips.

Her eyes narrowed curiously as she took the small object from him, the plastic wrapper crinkling under her fingers. She couldn't imagine trying to eat anything let alone something so sweet, but the cherry sucker had her fascinated.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here."

He took a seat next to her as she put the lolly on the tray at her side. She repeated the question sternly, "Jackson, where did you get the money?"

"Keefe was supposed to be my last assignment," Jackson started, leaning back in his chair as his blue eyes held hers firmly.

Lisa knew better than to expect anything other than the truth.

"Years of not stepping on the wrong toes, getting the job done…and done well." He paused, running a thumb over the tips of his fingers as his arm rested on the chair. "They never really let you out, but retiring is as close as one can get. At least my mum would have been safe."

The look on her face was enough to tell that she understood the meaning. He would have rather not repeated all the events if at all possible, especially in such a public environment. Jackson tossed a quick glance at the doorway before continuing.

"Before I even remembered, I knew something was wrong," he bit his lip absently as he took out the photograph, flipping it over to see the inscription once again.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth. He leaned forward to give it to her and her expression seemed just as hesitant.

"This was left," he explained. "But the handwriting wasn't hers. A little…tease of a calling card, you could say, for if I ever actually made it. They knew I would have gone back for her."

She was oddly quiet, scanning the words as the significance sunk in deep.

"They probably assumed it would go down as a double suicide."

Lisa's voice was quiet when she spoke, "A choice between a stranger's father and your mother…"

"Keefe or your father," Jackson agreed as he continued the pattern of events. "It's all in the games that they play."

"Kings and pawns," she whispered with fingers tracing the figures in the picture.

"What?" Jackson's voice caused her to look back up.

It wasn't important.

"Nothing," Lisa replied before handing him back the photo. It was placed back in the safety of his jacket. "So where does that leave us?"

"I was thinking right here is fine," he sat up straight in the chair, one arm on the chair rest while the other came to sit on the bed.

He touched her hand tentatively and she took it, "You aren't going anywhere until the doctor's allow it. When they do, I have some tickets lined up to get us back across the Atlantic."

"Hannah?"

He nodded. "I have ID's, U.S. Passports. She's marked down as eighteen years of age so there's no dealing with the underage bull."

"And the price?"

She saw his jaw tense, "I'm working on it."

Lisa pulled her hand away, one on her lap another playing with her hair. She looked down at the fabric under her fingers, "I can't…"

Couldn't open up to him, couldn't let him get any closer. Couldn't give her heart. He was going to let someone else die and she couldn't help but wonder how much of the responsibility was on her shoulders.

"I know." He didn't ask for details or offer any explanations. In fact his stare was making her self-conscious and Lisa felt her cheeks flush.

Her fingers moved out of her hair and she turned the conversation to petty embarrassments, "I must look like a mess."

"Not at all," he stated simply with no mirth or sarcasm.

She decided to pick up the slack, "Right, because multi-colored hospital gowns are known for their flattery."

"Maybe you're right," Jackson gave a coy smile that made Lisa feel almost like just a normal girl.

He motioned with a twist of the finger, "Suppose you get up and do a little twirl so I can see the full effect?"

"Not a chance," she played with a flirtatious grin. Her body moved in just the right way to tweak her posture and she tried to hide the wince.

"I have my moments just like any other hot-blooded male," he continued with a tilt of the head.

He had noticed her tender movements and she shook her head in dismissal. He was close, closer than she had first realized, but she never thought to ask him to move away.

He took her hand again and she squeezed back.

"Thank you," she said quietly and he only watched his fingers on hers.

_**++&&&&++**_


	28. Propositions

_**++&&&&++**_

The halls of the small hotel were quiet in the evening hours. The only occupants were a pair of women that stood in front of one of the doors, fiddling with the key while their bags sat on the blue woven rug.

They were pretty enough and looked up with a smile as two men passed by. Keplan shot a wide smile in return and one fluttered her eyes. He kept walking.

The other man at his side wasn't particularly memorable: muddled hair parted just to the side, faded blue eyes ruined by puffy bags underneath. Greg was a loyal man though, and wasn't too bad with words. Keplan would have come alone under normal circumstances, but it wasn't their first stop.

His step paused outside their target and he knocked. Surprisingly enough the door opened within moments and a pair of eyes glared back at him with contempt. If Jack had heard first, he knew the man wouldn't have let the teen answer the door.

"Hello," he responded to her silence with a smile.

"What do you want?" Hannah crossed her arms and leaned back on her heels.

A movement caught his eye and Keplan looked past her to see Jackson in the suite hall with a look equally as apprehensive. He must have known they needed to talk however, as he wasn't telling the girl to slam the door in his face.

Jackson's gaze shot to Keplan's companion, "He stays out."

Keplan couldn't argue with that and motioned for the man to wait outside. Hannah looked back at Jackson for approval and stepped out of the way when he gave a nod of approval.

"Hannah, go to your room for a minute. We won't be long."

She visibly flinched at the childish command, but obeyed regardless. Keplan closed the door behind him and Hannah disappeared behind her own, leaving the two men in the room. Jackson didn't offer the visitor a seat.

"Nice place," Keplan remarked, taking in the space.

It was classy, but not overdone. Definitely more for the tourists, but he imagined they preferred a bit of luxury while they could get it. Two rooms down a narrow hall. Kitchen, dinette. Briggs had always provided well when it came to Jack. The thought made him press his lips tight in efforts to constrain the scowl.

"It's late, Kep."

The man glanced at the microwave. 1:13. He hadn't wanted to wait until morning to make the trip, or the offer.

Another step through the room and Keplan looked back to the girl's closed door, a glint in his eye at the thought of them alone in the hotel. He knew Jack had no interest, but it still posed for an interesting situation.

"I never took you as the type," he implied with a nod in her direction, baiting. But Jackson gave little reaction. He seemed tired.

"What do you want? Other than make assumptions that you have no business with."

Keplan smiled to himself. "I believe I do," he corrected, keeping his voice low. Despite Jackson's casual lean against the wall, he was certain the man was paying full attention. Neither of them wanted to be there.

"They wanted us to take her tonight. Hannah," Keplan clarified. "Under Briggs orders."

It came out of left field and the look on Jackson's face easily displayed the conflict. The blue eyes narrowed on him once again, "What the hell are you doing, Keplan?"

What was he doing? There were times he wondered himself. "See, I kinda like those two. They have…spirit."

The comment wasn't doing much to help Jackson's opinion of the man in front of him and he only tilted his head, evaluating, jaw tense and eyes skeptical.

Keplan wasn't to be intimidated and continued, "I'd rather not see them shattered like all the rest of us casualties."

He eyed the couch that sat against the wall nearby and it was looking better with every moment. There was no reason he couldn't make himself at home.

"I know about the _plan_," he remarked with an amused tone as he took a seat. The chair was plush, a little too plush.

"Any fool could see they are holding them above your head over this and the chance of failure is…well," he paused, judging Jackson's expression. There was no doubt the man wasn't pleased about the situation Briggs had put him in. Put them both in. "You know the odds."

"We suck it up and deal with it, Keplan," Jackson stated, trying to convince himself more likely.

He was all business, from his stance, his clothes, shoes. Keplan was well aware of the drill. Jackson was resisting the urge to ask _how_ Keplan knew, but there was no reason to give up the mystery in their relationship.

"That's what we were trained for," Jackson continued. "And that's exactly what I am planning to do, so unless you have any useful suggestions…"

"I do, in fact," Keplan interrupted and the room went quiet. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. There was no trace of a smile anymore. "Have a suggestion that will, for a lack of a better term, make this all go away."

The suggestion seemed ridiculous, even knowing the details.

"A hit's been called on Briggs."

The blue eyes flashed angrily, but Keplan knew Jackson wouldn't find any lies here.

"That's impossible," Jackson defended a little louder than intended. "Only the Commission can make that call on each other and they would never…"

Keplan shook his head and leaned back in the seat again. It was a tiring charade, the back-and-forth dealings and middle-play. And he also knew the man standing in front of him had grown weary of it all long before he had.

"We both know that Briggs and Harrison have been at odds for years now. It was only a matter of time before he convinced the others that this decision would benefit the rest of the company," Keplan confirmed. "There is too much at stake for her to be setting down the final say when it comes to getting this job accomplished."

Jackson looked away first. Of course he hadn't questioned her about the others. Why should he? Their job was to sit back until the orders came. Get things done when they needed to get done, get paid, and life continued on as normal. Whether the details came from Briggs, Harrison, Evans…whoever else, the word of one was the word of all…

…until now.

"She took it too far," Keplan stated simply, as though that were good enough.

"She's doing what is best…" Jackson tried to explain, but Keplan was quick to cut him off.

"…For herself. Imagine the power she would acquire if you were to accomplish this."

Keplan rose to his feet. The man had to be made to see sense. He was an asset to whatever side he chose, and at the moment Keplan needed him on theirs. "And if you were to fail…"

He stepped closer, voice hushed with sincerity and Jackson looked back to him with just a hint that his irritation had decreased. "…all the better. You'd be a problem dealt with. Everyone knows this wasn't the first time you've given them reason. It's the price you have to pay for compassion."

"Keefe was going to be my last assignment," Jackson hissed back, shoulders tense. "There's nothing logical to gain by losing my service now."

"Then why did she offer the payment?"

Jackson looked surprised, and worried despite his attempt to conceal it. His moves were being watched. From the steps onto hospital grounds, to the shopping plaza, to the shitting in private. The degree even surprised Keplan about what they knew.

Things would have been more convenient if he had just left them all to the mercy of the infected.

"Oh yes, I know about that too. One more job, Donovan, and then what? She lets you go to drink and be merry and fuck those little cherry lips that are sitting in the hospital right now?"

Eyes darkened and Keplan knew he was taking it too far. His intention wasn't to lose Jackson. Not anymore.

"Something about this shit is off, and you know it," Keplan added, driving the point home.

People were not logical creatures by nature, but he had a point. They always had a plan. Jackson just wondered what Keplan's was. There was truth in the man's words.

"I don't take kindly to sales pitches," Jackson stated clearly.

Keplan only smiled. "You wouldn't have listened to me for so long unless somethin' was nagging you in the first place."

The room was lit by a single lantern by the couch and the illumination reflected in Jackson's eyes as he stared at it. The glass bowed out, opening at the top to expose the yellow bulb. It wasn't a lot, and he almost debated flipping the switch in the kitchen.

"I'm offering you a chance, Jack."

_Little Jack Jelf was put on a shelf, because he could not spell 'pie.'_

"All you have to do is say yes, and play along with us here in the big leagues."

The tone wasn't condescending, but Jackson didn't appreciate the comparison. Keplan was the last person who needed to be telling him to play along.

"Who knows, we might even throw in a new bat."

Jackson's teeth clenched and his fingers pulled into a fist. It was all he needed, more reminders of London. Still, he forced his tongue to respond, "When do you need an answer?"

He focused on anything but the other man in the room. The copper door handle, the polished wood of the coffee table, the closed blinds over the window where the curtain had been drawn tightly. Jackson's hands went to his pockets and he felt paper crinkle.

"The flights are on Sunday. You keep doin' your thing like normal. Talk to whatever contacts you have in mind, start with arrangements. That's what you're good at after all, right?"

Jackson remained silent, so Keplan continued, "Me, I'm going to be mostly out of sight until then. Give me a ring when I need to know the details."

Keplan started for the door and Jackson was all too eager to let him out. Greg was waiting patiently on the other side.

"We'll meet at the Tasse de The at the corner of Verge d'or and Clermont. Nice little café, highly recommend it for any occasion if you are in town."

Tea and biscuits: _ironic_. Jackson's hand lingered on the cold metal of the handle, "Back to normal, like the Empire never fell."

Keplan didn't respond, instead tossing a nod back to Hannah's room, "Keep an eye on those girls, because everyone else sure as hell is."

He turned and started down the vacant hall, joined by his companion as the door shut in their wake.

Jackson remained standing at the closed doorway, hand resting on the casing and eyes downcast. He clenched his jaw. The dominoes had been started and all that could be done was to wait and let them finish falling. He could be patient, but it didn't come naturally.

"What was that about?"

He didn't turn at the sound of Hannah's voice. She had been listening, but he had expected it. There was a sigh, his eyes narrowed on the door handle and Jackson pushed away, making his way to the kitchen.

"If anyone else comes don't answer the door without getting me first," he said harshly as he passed her by.

Jackson opened a cupboard and pulled a glass down. There were streaks in the clear plastic and he glowered. For the price he paid for the room the least they could do was provide proper drink ware. He turned on the tap and filled it.

"Are you like James Bond, or Ethan Hunt, or something?" Hannah questioned eagerly with more curiosity then condemnation.

"No," Jackson answered truthfully.

He would have never made a good agent. Come to think about it, he had never made a good assassin either. It was far too romanticized…and he rarely ever got the girl.

"I'm just the guy that tells them what to do."

He turned off the faucet and walked out of the kitchen. The liquid was cool down his throat. He had debated going back to the hospital, but there wasn't a chance he would leave Hannah alone now. Not after that.

She was still standing just at the edge of the hall, leaning at the shoulder with one hand in her pocket. The corner of her lips turned up just a little as he took a seat.

"Cool."

_**++&&&&++**_


	29. Good People

_**++&&&&++**_

**Four Days Later…**

The sensation was surreal. Lisa sat as comfortably as she was able in the large jet, careful not to tweak her bandage. Thankfully it was healing well enough.

The plane was at full occupancy, each passenger and crewman verified at the gates for a clean bill of health (her wound required an additional waiting-period-before-flight and inspection to ensure it was not a risk), luggage turned inside and out for anything deemed suspicious and they were much less pc about the steps taken than before the virus. Air travel had been stripped of its luxury for the throws of necessity.

The cross-Atlantic flights were few and far between, but the given tickets had provided top service. First class, free drinks of any variety. Lisa had respectfully declined, instead opting for an Ibuprofen and water from the attendant to calm her nerves. It had seen that she fell into the comfort of sleep within the first handful of hours.

It was a needed sleep and when she awoke Hannah was fully occupied with a book, headphones at full blare. She seemed to notice Lisa's stir and looked up with a smile before taking the plugs from her ears.

"About time, sleepyhead," Hannah remarked cheerfully, turning down a corner of her current page before closing the soft-cover.

Lisa let out a quiet groan as her mind came back to herself, followed with an underlining headache, "Was I out that long?"

"Left me bored as can be," the girl established. "Jackson was no help either. It's nearly morning."

"Yes, because heaven forbid I actually try to sleep during a night flight."

"You're losing seven hours," Hannah protested.

"Point still standing," Lisa finished with a smirk.

She looked around at the rest of scattered sleepers: men in suits, women wisely in slacks, a pair of young boys immersed in their game systems. All looking blissfully unaware that fellow passengers had been fighting for their lives hardly a few days before. And really, how difficult would it be for something to get off the island and to the other shores?

Her stomach turned.

Hannah put her headphones down, unbuckling her safety belt, "I have to run to the loo."

Lisa nodded, straightening in her own seat; a window seat of all things. Another reason she had been quick to take something to calm her nerves. It was still too dark to see much.

It had been a strange several days leading up to the trip back. Jackson had been absent, much more than she expected. He didn't visit the hospital again, not until it was time for her release. Hannah would arrive with some assigned apology while he spent the day 'out on business.' The very idea of what that entailed was a subject she avoided.

What had she expected? Now that adrenaline had toned down and sense had kicked back in…that they would kiss, make up?

'Sorry about attacking you and your dad,' she imagined him saying in the conversation.

'Sorry about not co-operating with your plans to kill innocent children,' she would have replied.

He had done it because he didn't have a choice, Lisa reminded herself. It was the company. The _Organization_, Jackson had called it. It was the only clue into what they were and what they wanted, which lacked substance of any kind and put her right back at square one. If she was certain of anything however, they were far from finished with the manager. So where did that leave her?

Jackson hadn't kissed her again, not since that night. Not that she expected anything at the hospital. He was trying to make her feel better, and it had worked. There were no promises and she wouldn't ask for them. That night, in the mansion, it had been the heat of the moment. That's all it was.

Lisa closed the window shade.

"Is this seat taken?"

She looked up at the smoothness of his voice and felt her body tense. He seemed to notice.

"If you'd rather I can go back to mine," he indicated to the seat behind. Lisa noticed that Keplan was absent also, bathroom no doubt. Or paying some attention to the staff?

"No," she replied. It took a minute to remember to smile, "I mean…it's okay…if you sit here." It was a comfortable feeling as he sat close. It always had been.

Jackson tested the music still streaming in the abandoned headphones and quickly decided against it, putting them away.

"Nothing good?"

"Teen pop," he confirmed with displeasure.

Lisa offered a shrug of optimism, "Well, as long as she doesn't force us all to suffer through it."

He didn't respond the way she expected. "I know this isn't easy," Jackson started in a sobering tone. "Flying back, and with me of all people."

Her eyes moved up from the dark stripes of his collar, "We've been though a lot since then."

_I trust you now_, she wanted to say, but the words couldn't come out. _I_…

"We have," he repeated, looking away. Smiling, "Haven't we?"

There was something Lisa couldn't place, and it frightened her. She reached out for his hand.

"Jackson, are you alright?"

He pulled his hand away from hers, holding them on his lap as he paused. "It seemed almost simpler back there, didn't it? People you learn are enemies…monsters you learn are a threat to the people you love…you can just let the primal out and get rid of the danger."

It was his apathy that worried her. Jackson wouldn't meet her eye, instead looking up the isle. He hadn't spoken to her all day, barely offered a smile, and now…

She wanted to feel his hand. She wanted to see the person who held her as the blood stained their skin. _Jackson, look at me_?

Hannah still hadn't returned.

"Where's Hannah?" Lisa questioned, hoping to get on a more neutral topic. "She's been gone a while."

It had been too long, there weren't enough people gone for there to be a line.

"Oh, probably in the cockpit," he answered with a casual smile, finally looking back at her. "Managed an arrangement with the pilot earlier."

"That was very generous," Lisa responded politely, noting the choice of words so to tread carefully. "I'm sure she'll love it."

"Well, it will certainly be an experience, at the very least."

"We've had enough of those to last a lifetime." There was no humor in her voice.

"Experiences push people, Leese," he began to lecture with that air of superiority that she hated. She had almost forgotten it. "Out of their little shells. The value of a résumé is determined by the extent of experiences. You meet someone new and what do they want to know…"

"What type of drink's they order?" she dared to interrupt.

He leaned in until she could feel his breath against her cheek. He was smiling, just at the edge of his lips, she was sure, "That would assume they've had experience with drinking."

Was it all a game to him? Back in that other time, in hell, he had been so… A look in his eyes almost as if he…

She had seen him. Back at the ruins. The man in the mansion who had fought for her honor. That had been Jackson. Not this act he was putting forward. So what game was he playing this time?

"It's strange," Lisa reminded. "Almost being back to where we started."

She felt him flinch and was glad for it. The truth of it was they were far from the people on that Red Eye flight so long ago. Weren't they?

The words that followed took the woman by surprise, "To do that, we'd have to travel back a lot further than that, Leese."

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes, Leese," he whispered into her hair. "Sometimes, bad things happen to good people."

Lisa's expression was one of surprise. She tried to turn enough to look at him but he moved quickly. Too quickly for her to release the scream before he had pressed the cloth to her face. A hand cradled the back of her head and she pushed back, trying to shove him away, trying to fight back. Jackson only pressed himself closer. She couldn't breath, struggling against the suffocating pressure.

Her eyes were wild, darting around the cabin. No one paid any mind. The boys had headphones firmly in place. People slept, or focused attention elsewhere. She kicked the seats in front, but they were empty. No one looked her way even once even as she tried to scream for help.

"Eh, eh," he reprimanded softly. "I learned my lesson last time. You, on the other hand, should have been paying more attention."

They were intensely blue, and the way Jackson's eyes held her gaze as he watched her fade. The narrowed, cold sensation could have made her shiver if she had the ability. But the struggle didn't last long as her limbs began to calm, her chest burning as she still tried to breathe through the fabric.

"That's it, Lisa," Jackson said calmly. His voice became fuzzy until she couldn't see the blues anymore. "Just relax."

Lisa finally stopped resisting, eyes closed, slumping against Jackson and he risking removing the cloth to check her breath. _Still there_. He sighed with relief and took the filled needle from his inner jacket pocket. He had done this many times before, removing the cover, eliminating the air. The tip slid into her skin so smoothly, the pale incision creating a flush ring that he knew would fade soon enough.

It was easy to fall back into old habits. This time she would stay asleep.

The curtain shuffled in front and Keplan looked out, eyes falling to the unconscious woman. When they shifted to Jackson the blond nodded with confirmation.

There was an announcement over the speakers, pleasant in tone, "…_ landing in thirty minutes_…"

_**++&&&&++**_

Author's Note:

I want to thank everyone for the lovely reviews! This story has undergone revisions and restructuring, and all that sort of goodness, and after this last round of editing I decided to finish up at this point of the story. I've been working on more, but after trying to work it all in I decided there was too much plot and all that goodness to continue it under the same storyline. The blending of the two just wasn't doing it for me and was putting me in a major slump about how to go from 'here' to 'there'.

So…I decided to end it.

And work on a sequel. So, I hope that works for everyone and we'll see how it turns out.

I hope everyone has enjoyed it as much as I loved writing it!

_**++&&&&++**_


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